


Revival of a Home

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Depression, Established Relationship, Getting Back Together, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Infidelity, Past Relationship(s), Polyamory, Recovery, Trans Character, Transphobia, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 18:46:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15735252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: He knows time heals all wounds, but he's so impatient.





	Revival of a Home

**Author's Note:**

> i consider this the unofficial companion piece to my fic [Death of a Planet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7160870)—not because these characters are the same characters, but because these characters are dealing with similar themes and scenarios. i kept thinking back to that fic when i was writing this, and i finally understand why.
> 
> please be kind to yourself. be proud of your progress. and be safe. you're strong. you've made it this far, kid.

"Start with an apology. An apology is the right thing to do." Josh switches the bag of cat food to his left arm, allowing the four pounds of the supper for sensitive stomachs to rest on his hip. The bag crinkles as he adjusts his grip. "Not just the right thing to do, it's the  _expected_  thing to do. Apologizing makes you feel better, and it makes other people feel better, too. Apologizing is cleansing. Even when you don't think you need to apologize, you should do it anyway because it's  _expected_  if you fuck up and it's the  _right thing to do_." Tongue in his cheek, Josh flicks his eyes down to the lit-up call button for the elevator. He debates on taking the stairs. He doesn't.

"I'm going to apologize," says Josh, the words coming out rough from misuse. Cracked voice, cracking lips, he moves the bag back to his right hip. He can't keep still. He's about to take the stairs. He doesn't.

Josh stands as if he's pissed. One leg out, hip cocked, head tilted, jaw set, he's the epitome of  _don't-mess-with-me_  with a side dish of  _please_. His gums hurt—his teeth—whatever, whatever, it's his mouth. His mouth hurts, and the elevator doors finally open, and Josh didn't miss the mirrored interior of this claustrophobic space. A man, pink and blue in the face with a small itch of repressed crying stabbing the eyes, greets him. It takes Josh aback for a moment, but this moment is brief. Josh steps into the elevator and slowly spins on the heels of his feet. He elbows the button for the third floor. He says quietly, "I'll tell him I'm sorry, and then we'll go on from there." This sensation is familiar. As numbing as this is, Josh is used to no one believing him.

The ride up is short. Vomit coats the inside of his mouth in a thin sheen. It's all over the backs of his teeth, his molars. They're throbbing. He hears his pulse in his ears.

Left, right, left, right, Josh exits the elevator and makes a hard right turn. Left, right, left, right, Josh braces the cat food on his hip and sends his knuckles into the first door after coming off the elevator.

When driving here, Josh hadn't given much thought to the time. He drove and drove and grabbed some cat food and drove some more and snapped an outdated parking pass to his rear-view mirror. He knew it was late enough for him to guess the landlord or any nosy tenants would be far gone in their dreams, but it never dawned on him the particular tenant he planned on visiting might be among them. If it comes to it, Josh has a key. He'll use it. He prefers not to do that, not when he needs to apologize first.

"I'll tell him I'm sorry," Josh repeats, and knocks again. "I'll tell him I'm sorry. I'll tell him I'm sorry."

Despite his preparations, when the door to the apartment unit opens, his careful apology doesn't meet the light, at least not in the way he intended. Fighting the shivers, he says, "Mrs. Joseph, hi, uh, I'm sorry for bothering you, but is Tyler home?" Josh knows the answer is a positive one. From the parking lot, Josh could see the lit lamp by Tyler's bedside illuminate through the window blinds. Tyler wouldn't leave his bedroom lamp on if he weren't home. Even so, guilt begins to gnaw its way at Josh's stomach when he registers Tyler might actually be fast asleep. The light in Tyler's room wasn't always a sign of Tyler's energy state. Tyler was able to fall asleep whenever and wherever he was comfortable. He learned that from Josh.

A cliché, Tyler's mom stares at Josh like he's a ghost. Keeping the front door open only slightly, she keeps her eyes on Josh's face and only Josh's face as she carefully asks, "Josh, is everything okay?"

Everything hurts.

Josh grips the cat food tighter. "I'm fine. You're gonna have to trust me on that, okay? I know I… I don't look fine, but I am. I, like, I can come back in the morning. I didn't mean to bother you."

"Oh, Josh"—she pushes the door open wider, enough for her to take the cat food from Josh—"come in, come in. You're never a bother to me—or to Tyler."

Reassuring to hear, Josh provides a weak smile to her on his way into the living room. He stands next to the couch, more of a stranger than an old friend in the apartment he used to call his own. Nothing's changed. Josh notes the pillow placement on the sofa, the throw blanket usually cast over the back of it now in a pile on a lone cushion. Tyler's mom has been sleeping here, but for how long, Josh doesn't know. She wasn't asleep when he knocked on the door. There's a bag of chips on the floor, open, the clip holding it closed placed on the arm of the couch, and the television is set to a late-night sitcom. Josh can imagine Tyler having the channel on the same in his room down the hall.

"Here," she says, returning to Josh with an ice pack wrapped in an old towel in her hands.

Josh shakes his head. "Don't—"

She shakes her head right back and presses the ice into Josh's hands. "You'll thank me in the morning." That's all she says on the matter. She moves right along. "I appreciate you getting Andy some food. Tyler was going to get some tomorrow."

"Well, you know, last thing Tyler told me before I moved out was to get some cat food, so I thought a few months late is better than never."

"I remember," she says, her smile sad. "Tyler called me sick out of his mind." She's smiling more now suddenly, this time a little more content. Her eyes, though, they're still sad, and they study Josh's face and all the splotches he can't adequately cover with the ice pack. She doesn't ask. She wants to ask, but she doesn't ask. "He's been worried about you," she says.

Josh digs his teeth into a spot on his cheek. It bleeds. He sucks. "I've been worried about him, too." Slowly, he lowers the ice pack and shrugs a shoulder. "I can leave. It's no big deal. I really wasn't thinking when I came here. I'll come back tomorrow. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's no big deal," she parrots, and raises his hand with the ice pack to his face. "I'll peek in on Tyler, see if he's awake. He hasn't been sleeping well lately."

As she disappears around the corner, Josh wonders if Tyler's overexerting himself at work. It wouldn't be the first time Tyler did so, especially during the summer months. That was when the shop was at its busiest. Families going on vacations, teenagers succumbing to their inevitable first accidents, and the routine checkup here and there, Tyler often left the local mechanic with a sore back, a migraine, and smelling of gasoline and body odor. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Josh sported a hoarse voice from constant laughter and smelled of crayons and sugar cookies upon leaving the daycare he worked. Where Josh was able to wash his hands free of the day's work, Tyler was left faintly stained and confined to a heating pad if the pain got too intense. It was a scenario Josh would have hated, but it was a scenario Tyler didn't seem to mind despite it all. He always smiled. It made Josh smile.

He's smiling already, in anticipation of Mrs. Joseph's reappearance. He's getting his hopes up, he knows, and yet he can't help it. Months have gone by since he's been in the apartment he used to rent with the man he considered his best friend. He hasn't seen Tyler for about that long, too. Their texts and phone calls were sparse and distant in tone. Josh was stupid. He doesn't want to think about that. He holds the ice pack to his face until the pain becomes numb. He's used to this.

Unable to eavesdrop no matter how much he tilts his head and tries to cancel out the laugh track on the TV, Josh remains standing and only moves once Tyler's mom enters the living room. "He's awake," she says, "no surprise there. I told him you were here, if you want to go on back and say hi."

"Thank you."

He'll apologize, and then he'll leave and maybe come back in the morning depending on Tyler's response. Due to their lack of meaningful contact, Josh guesses Tyler would hear him out and go on to tell him they'll get together in the next few days to catch up properly. This route makes the most sense to Josh. Even if he and Tyler were once as thick as thieves, he couldn't conceive of an instance where Tyler  _wouldn't_  be upset with him and showed it accordingly. Josh deserves to hear Tyler yell. He deserves Tyler's anger.

The floor creaks in all the places Josh remembers. For a second, Josh feels at home. For a second, Josh hears the floor give way right by Tyler's bedroom, and for that second, his blood runs cold. The guilt eats him again. He can't bring himself to look anywhere but his feet, not even when Tyler's arms wrap around his shoulders and Tyler's face burrows into his neck. Josh begins to shake and fails at pretending to not know why. Embarrassing to him and him only, he hides this by wrapping his own arms around Tyler's waist and holding on for dear life.

Josh forces himself to speak. "I'm sorry," he says, quiet, feeling nauseous. "I'm so sorry, Tyler."

" _I'm_  sorry," Tyler says. He doesn't sound well. Stuffy nose, maybe a cold, maybe Tyler's just tired—either way, Josh rubs Tyler's back in a small form of comfort. Up and down and side to side, Josh can tell Tyler was lying on his heating pad. His shirt is damp. His skin will be warm and red. Josh holds Tyler a little tighter.

Quietly sniffing, Tyler quips, "I thought she was lying. I… I don't know why I thought she would lie about something like that, but  _you're here_." His hands grip the back of Josh's shirt, almost like he's afraid Josh might vanish. Josh shares these feelings. He clings to Tyler and doesn't let go until Tyler decides to do so first. He rubs at his face, his neck, keeping his hands on his neck as he meets Josh's gaze. Tyler looks small with his shoulders slumped and his knees slightly bent. He's wearing his t-shirt inside out, the white one, the shirt his mother doesn't appreciate. It makes appearances whenever Tyler wants to irritate his mother, which tends to be often. He means well, and she takes it in jest, as well. When Josh notices the shirt, he smiles, and Tyler, albeit hesitant, smiles back.

"So," Tyler says, dropping his arms to his sides, "you need me to kick someone's ass?"

Josh smiles again. He can't laugh. It'll hurt. He says, "I'm okay. Seriously. Your mom, she just gave me this ice pack. I'm okay. Plus, like, you hate violence. I can't see you doing anything to her besides maybe, like"—Josh blows out air—"making her really uncomfortable just by staring at her without saying anything or something along those lines."

Tyler's staring at him. He's just staring, doing exactly what Josh said he could do in his personal dish of revenge. Josh sees Tyler's fingers twitch slowly into fists, but he shakes them away in favor of touching his own neck again. A palm on each side, his fingers interlaced at the back, Tyler sniffs. He clears his throat. "Oh, yeah?" He doesn't comment on the pronoun Josh used. It gives away who he's talking about, and Tyler is the last person to toss an "I told you so!" in Josh's face. Tyler was right, though. He did tell Josh he was making a mistake as he threw on his coat—screamed it, in fact. Tyler's face was red and wet, and he hugged his legs to his chest and screeched, "Go get some cat food before you ruin your life, fuck head."

The words were harsh and so unlike Tyler. It stun Josh. He sees those words across Tyler's face now. Tongue pressing into his cheek, Tyler looks more sheepish than pissed. He isn't mad. He's eating the words he spoke months past. It still hurts because Tyler was right. Tyler didn't think Josh was serious. He thought Josh was going to return that night because Josh only left with the clothes on his back and his phone charger in his pocket.

Josh thought he was going to be happier. Tyler thought he was marching to his death.

"I'm sorry," Tyler says again, bags under his eyes and his hair longer than Josh has ever seen it. Tyler closes those tired eyes of his and goes, "I'm… I'm trying to word this in a way that… that it…" Tyler rubs his fingertips into his eyes, right into his tear ducts, and takes a slow step back into the bedroom. He leans into the doorjamb, and Josh doesn't miss the way Tyler winces. Josh doesn't miss the purple bruises on Tyler's neck either, or the split knuckles fighting to heal. "Josh, whatever happened to you, I'm not going to ask or beg for you to tell me what happened because that's on you. I just… I just need to know if you're okay." Tyler's shaking. He might fall. He has support. He crosses his arms over his chest and asks, "Are you okay?"

That's never a simple question. Three words, locked and loaded, and Josh fires them to Tyler without checking his sights. "Are  _you_  okay?" Josh nods to Tyler's neck, Tyler's fingers right around his neck again—again, again, again.

"Not really," Tyler says, "but I will be."

Josh smiles. "I will be, too."

Briefly, Josh thinks Tyler might tell him to leave, see you in the morning, we'll grab lunch together sometime, but Tyler's slowly dropping his hands from his neck and saying, "Do you have anywhere to be tonight?"

Josh feels his lip wobble. He tries to curb it by biting, by digging in his teeth, but it wobbles more, and the tears he tried so hard to suppress blink one by one down his cheeks. "No," he says, and laughs. He runs his hand under his eyes. "Is that pathetic?"

"Of course not," says Tyler, and with tears in his own eyes and a struggle to maintain a steady voice, he says, "Do you want to see Andy?"

Words escape from Josh's lips before his mind can make the smart decision. "Heck  _yes_."

Regret holds no claim over Josh tonight. Seeing that bright smile stretch across Tyler's face is enough for Josh to forget his previous inhibitions. There's even a bounce in Tyler's step as he enters the bedroom and turns to see if Josh has indeed followed him. The door doesn't shut; Tyler leaves that cracked to alleviate the stress. Tyler can only guess what's going on in Josh's head, as Josh does the same, but it wouldn't be ridiculous for him to assume Josh, despite most people preferring to keep the door to their bedroom closed, would find nothing but terror as it tried to squeeze his throat shut. Josh is tired of sore throats from bruises both internal and external from monsters without claws.

Much like the rest of the apartment, nothing in the bedroom has changed. Tyler still sleeps with too many pillows and his heating pad placed to the left side of the queen-sized bed. Routine at this point, when getting the bed ready to sleep, Tyler unrolls the heating pad and situates it just right. Leaving the bed to grab a drink of water or to relieve his bladder forces the heating pad vulnerable. The warmth doesn't go to waste in times like this, especially now.

Stealing Tyler's lifesaver once he went to see if his mom told the truth, Tyler's other lifesaver in the form of his thirteen-year-old tortoiseshell cat claims the spot with nothing but good intentions. He's lying there now, paws tucked underneath him and squinty eyes turned to the visitors. Not at all concerned with being relocated, he produces a soft purr, a greeting, as Tyler scoops him up. "There we go," Tyler remarks quietly.

"Hello, Andy," says Josh, and scratches underneath the cat's chin. "How have you been doing, sweetie?"

Andy just purrs.

Delicately, Tyler lowers Andy to the bed and takes his rightful spot on his heating pad. His thumb fiddles with the settings, his eyes, however, not watching himself do this. As natural as ever, as if this were an ordinary night, Andy noses at Josh's hoodie and rubs against his outstretched hand. Josh begins to smile. He runs his fingers into the thick fur making up Andy's mane. "I bought some cat food for him. Your mom took it somewhere." Curling his fingers, Josh rubs the side of Andy's face. He's always found comfort in Andy's fur. Soft, like down feathers, Josh was confused with how Andy was able to remain this smooth, even as he approached his senior years. Tyler brushes him seldom. Andy was a magnificent groomer when it came to it.

"Was the food for sensitive stomachs?" Tyler raises an eyebrow.

Josh smiles more. "Of course."

They're quiet, save for Andy's purring and eventual slow kneading into a pillow. Josh follows Andy's movements to the best of his ability. Ice pack kept in his left hand, he climbs onto the bed and slowly slides until he's resting on his stomach with his face in Andy's belly fur. Andy isn't too bothered. He yawns. Josh is at peace.

Tyler keeps still, arms by his sides, the light on his heating pad remote indicating the highest setting. He watches Josh. He quietly remarks, "Is that ice pack helping? I can get you some painkillers or something."

"I'm okay. Your mom didn't even need to get me this, but…" Josh sighs, lifting his head and pressing the ice pack to his cheek. " _You know_." He stares at Tyler, noting the small smirk and slight amused hum.

As if on cue, the laugh track from the sitcom rolls on the television. Josh was right. He glances to the TV. Tyler says, "Want me to turn it off?"

Dropping his hand to the bed and catching the ice pack from unraveling away from the old towel wrapping further, Josh says, "If you don't want me here, I can leave. I can go—"

"No." Tyler's stubborn. Tyler knows. Tyler says, "Josh, really, you don't have to worry about being, like, a nuisance."

"Your mom said you haven't been sleeping a lot these days."

"It's hard to sleep when you're in pain all the time… I totally didn't mean that in a woe-is-me way." Tyler rests his hands on his chest, fingers interlocked, eyes scanning Josh. Josh pretends he doesn't notice. "Why do you care what my mom said?"

"She's your mom."

Tyler blinks.

Josh shakes his head. "It's just… I don't know. I didn't think I would make it this far."

"What are you talking about?"

"I thought you were going to turn me away after you saw me." Josh feels foolish for saying so, more so when Tyler furrows his brow and gapes his mouth like a fish out of water. "Look, I told myself I was going to apologize, and I  _did_ , so excuse me for feeling a little lost that everything turned out better than I expected."

Tyler's laugh takes Josh by surprise. He holds his side, legs bending at the knee as he tries unsuccessfully to control the high-pitched and sometimes silent noises that come from his mouth. "Josh,  _oh, my God_ …" Timid now, Tyler smiles a smile that only accents the pink tint on his cheeks. Positively endearing, Josh rolls onto his back, swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and ignores his heart racing in his chest. "I missed you," Tyler mumbles, watching Josh untie the laces on his shoes and remove his sweatshirt.

"I missed you more."

"Doubt it."

When Josh stares at Tyler, he doesn't feel anger. He expected anger. He expected Tyler to be angry, and in turn, Josh would feed off Tyler's anger, but Josh only feels sick. He's felt sick all evening, but this is different.

Josh pitches his jeans to the floor.

Tyler's looking at him, absently fixing the blankets to accommodate Josh as Josh lies down. Next to Tyler and being mindful of Andy up by their heads, he returns the ice pack to his cheek, his skin warm again and the ice doing everything to keep down the swelling. One spot to the other, Josh moves the ice pack all over his face, wherever it starts to throb with pain. Everything's sore, but Josh will focus on his face, on his gums, his teeth, his poor mouth. He'll be asleep soon, and maybe then, he won't be in so much pain. The chances of this happening are slim. He's bruised and scratched and beaten to hell and back. Tyler doesn't need to see the markings to know this. Josh grimaces at every movement, no matter how small. He hasn't stopped clenching his jaw. He wants to relax. He needs to desperately relax. "Thank you for letting me stay the night."

They're lying side by side, the blankets pulled to their chins, Tyler's arms limp and Josh's arms struggling to hold up the world. "Thank you for trusting me." It's hard to stare at Tyler with tears pricking at his dark eyes; Josh can't avert his gaze, not even when Tyler's phone on the nightstand inches away lights up with notifications. Tyler would normally jump at them, clawing at each push and pulling them toward him. Now, though, Tyler just lies there, defeated, his head tilted on a pillow and his eyes deadset on the television. The hair behind Tyler's ears is starting to curl.

Josh can sleep with the light on, and he knows Tyler can, too. Yet, Josh asks if he can turn off the lamp, and at Tyler's approval, Josh leans over Tyler to shut it off before Tyler stirs. An inkling, Tyler wasn't going to move. He didn't used to move before. Josh doesn't see him moving now.

"Sweet dreams," Josh tells him, lying back down, this time on his side. Curled up like a fetus facing Tyler, Josh keeps the ice pack between his cheek and a pillow. The pain isn't as intense like this.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite," Tyler says.

"I won't."

Like a shy spirit skirting along the line of purgatory, Tyler's fingertips twitch against the sheets to touch Josh's hand. Josh directs his gaze up to Tyler, just to catch a peek of his face. And that face, it's a face Josh missed waking up next to every morning, dark circles and the occasional acne breakout and all. Josh's chest aches. His throat's sore. Everything's sore.

From the living room, Tyler's mom moves around the living room. She's turning off the TV, getting ready to sleep herself.

Tyler's voice is a whisper, that same spirit in his fingers attaching to his vocal chords. "Tomorrow will be better."

Josh believes him.

*

"You're too good for this world, Josh," she told him, while they picked out songs for their wedding in the spring. "Could you really be happy here with me?" She cocked her head and tapped her pink gel nails against the tabletop. She was tapping a rhythm she thought was his favorite song. "You are my sun, my moon, and my stars; you are too good for my world."

Her words and insistent tapping sent shivers down his spine—and not the good kind of shivers, where he's laughing, too, with the corners of his eyes wet and barely able to stay open. No, in his dreams, she strokes his spine, and it does nothing but terrify him. She did this in real life, as well, but in his dreams, he's bold, he has a voice he can use, and he isn't afraid to use it.

It's monochrome in his dream, patched with the lightest shade of blue as accent marks. When she comments on his angelic nature for the umpteenth time, he fills with the rush of turquoise through his veins. "Why," he starts, "did you cheat on me?"

Josh wanted to shout this at her until his throat bled. There's an ugly itch for it even now, and yet the time for yelling has passed. His dreams are vivid. His dreams will always claw at his tongue and pull at his teeth.

"Why did you cheat on me?" Josh wishes he had asked just once, but he only smiled. He could only smile when she spoke to him in that calm, collected tone of hers, and manipulated him into a classic paper swan.

She whispered her darkest fears—she parroted his—and all the while—"Why did you cheat on me?"

She curled into him every night—she kissed his neck where he liked it—and all the while—"Why did you cheat on me?"

She comforted him from the world—she cooed about their future children and pets playing within their white picket fences—and all the while—"Why did you cheat on me?"

Now Josh knows. He knows, and he is made of venom slow churned and diluted.

He could only smile around her. The fear became too much.

It hurts to smile.

In his dreams, much like real life, he was powerless, but in this dream, in this dream, he has the purest of turquoise hues in his veins and leaking from his eyes, and he has no more room in his heart for a person who deconstructed him until he knew himself as nothing more than a pile of skeleton bones.

And so, Josh screams at her, screams every word he wishes he had told her as her nails raked down his cheeks and her spit made him blind. He screams. He screams. He wakes himself up screaming.

Tyler's there. Tyler's sitting on his knees and hovering over Josh, not wanting to touch, but ready to touch if Josh needs to be grounded. "Hey," he says, a soft voice, a soft smile, "I'm here. Tyler's here."

Lying on his back, ice pack melted and lukewarm by his head, and Andy currently perked up and alert, Josh darts between each of Tyler's eyes. Rested for the start of this brand-new day, today Tyler is different from last-night Tyler. Today Tyler isn't in pain. His neck is still bruised, his knuckles are still busted, but he's fading into recovery with his dimpled cheeks edging Josh to join him when all is ready.

Tyler sets the palm of his hand on Josh's forehead. Unable to check Josh's temperature like this, it doesn't matter to Tyler. If Josh is warm, Tyler is warm. Tyler's fingers curl and gently scratch, a wake-up call. "Hey," he repeats, and glances behind him before settling onto his stomach. Tyler props himself up by an elbow, returning his hand to Josh's forehead. Slowly, so slowly, Tyler separates the hair from the skin. Josh's forehead is clear. Tyler gives Josh's clear forehead a kiss. "Do you want to shower before…?"

"No, I had one last night." Josh shuts his eyes. He can feel the sharp sting of the shower rod snapping into his spine.

Tyler notes the wince. He delivers another kiss.

"Before what?" asks Josh.

"I thought we could go out somewhere today, if that's okay. My mom went to do some errands, and she's been lovely and all for staying with me, but I kind of want to give her a relaxing afternoon alone."

Josh wants to lie here and forget. "Why is she staying with you?"

An open book when it comes to Josh, distance and potential awkwardness be damned, Tyler becomes timid. His shoulders drop. His eyes, they look down at his hands, now returning to rest on the mattress in front of him. "I, uh… I got into a bad car accident a few weeks ago." He rushes into an explanation at Josh's eyes widening and him already producing an inquisitive noise buried deep in his chest. "My airbags deployed. It wasn't my fault. I got a little choked by my seatbelt and needed to get glass from the windshield out of my hands, but  _I'm okay_." He looks at Josh. Chewing on his lip and crossing his ankles, Tyler shakes his head. "I'm actually, like,  _not okay_ , with a capital  _O_ , but… I will be okay. It's just going to take a while for me to recover completely."

Josh needs to move. He needs to do something. "What happened to the other person? Were they  _not okay_  with a capital  _O_?"

"She's fucking fine," Tyler hisses. "She hit me on purpose. She crawled from her side window and toward my car and saw I was alive, and she grew horns and a forked tail."

Josh moves. Josh lifts his hand and shoves his hand into Tyler's shoulder. " _Dude_."

Another bright smile, Tyler goes, "Okay, maybe she didn't have the horns." Nonchalantly, he adds, "She ended up dying a few days later anyway," and pushes himself from the bed. Offering no insight into how this seemingly horrible person came to perish, Tyler grabs the back of his shirt and gently yanks it over his head. The move is fluid and unexpectedly so. Josh is directed to the arch of Tyler's back, his shoulders, and when Tyler turns around with a clean t-shirt in hand, Josh dips to Tyler's chest. Tyler doesn't notice. Tyler's preoccupied with making sure he puts on his shirt the right way. "I think going to the park would be nice. I sort of already packed a cooler anyway."

Oh, does it hurt to sit up, but Josh sits up. He places his hands on his thighs and slowly leans forward. His back stretches. It feels good like this.

Tyler straightens out the wrinkles in his shirt.

"Where'd your tits go?" asks Josh, an insensitive query to anyone other than the man who stands before him with hands on the hips and a toothy grin on the face.

"It looks good, doesn't it?" Tyler takes a long step toward the bed, knees hitting the bed frame. He lifts his shirt and looks down as Josh does the same. "It's been about… eight months now?" Tyler scrunches his nose. "I'd need to look at a calendar."

"You went to Urie," Josh says, "yeah? He did mine."

"That's why I went to him."

"Do you know how I know you went to him?"

Smiling again, Tyler goes, "How?"

Smiling, too, Josh gestures to his own chest, hands hovering and doing a squeezing motion. " _We have the same nipples, dude_."

Tyler drops his shirt, feigning offense as he places his hands over his own chest. "Dude, they're  _sensitive_." Moving along, Tyler says, "I was worried about the scarring, even though he said it'd be minimal. Like, you…? We have different skin tones, and your scars aren't that noticeable—"

"I did have it done a lot earlier than you."

"—but I'm actually surprised at how well they're fading. I'm glad I went where you did. Trans doctors should be the ones to do these kinds of jobs, you know?"

Josh holds out his hand. "I know."

Fingers spread out, Tyler touches his palm to Josh's palm. Warm skin against warm skin, warm smiles and nothing else, Tyler's the first one to slide his hand toward Josh, his fingers to Josh's wrist. Josh falls in line. He grips Tyler's wrist and feels okay. "Had any other surgery done?" Josh wiggles his eyebrows. It's cheeky. It also would be insensitive if this were not Tyler, if this weren't his best friend. Guilt doesn't eat him for thinking this. He stares at Tyler, and Tyler stares at him, and they smile. They smile.

"Oh, yeah. Loads of surgery." With his free hand, Tyler pulls at the drawstring of his sweatpants. "I got"—Tyler snorts—"my wisdom teeth taken out." He smacks that free hand into the side of Josh's head, a playful tap, and blows a raspberry. "So, do you want to go to the park?"

Andy begins the descent from the pillows to the middle of the bed. He noses around Josh's elbows. Wet kisses one right after the other, he purrs to accompany what makes Josh regret ever leaving this home. "Are we having a picnic?" This slips from his lips with more sobriety than intended, though he doesn't necessarily see this as a bad thing. It's expected almost. He couldn't possibly be able to jump from one extreme to another in his life without some missteps. Tyler understands this. Their attempts to grasp at normalcy are shaky at best. It would do more harm if they were to continue living as if nothing had occurred, as if they hadn't been separated. Having a picnic, if that's truly Tyler's plan, could be a step in the right direction. Taking it easy is advisable. These next few hours will be detrimental to where and how Josh will be spending the rest of his life.

A small part of him consists of hope. It's plain to fathom when Tyler places his hand in Josh's, tips forward, and kisses the top of Josh's head. "The fridge was nearly empty save for some baby carrots, so if you think that's a good picnic food, then  _yes_ —we're having a picnic." A beat, and Tyler says, "You can wear my clothes."

Josh bites his lip. His chin quivers. "I, dude—most of your clothes are  _my_  clothes."

Tyler blows another raspberry. "Just get ready." He picks up Andy, the cat immediately curling into Tyler's shoulder and shutting his eyes. Despite being well into adulthood, Andy behaves like a kitten. He tries climbing up Tyler's shirt to get closer, but finds this difficult with no front claws at his disposal.

Found by an abandoned home at the edge of town five years ago, Andy was sickly and missing most of the fur that brought Josh security during the nights he lived with Tyler. Josh saw him first crouched under an old grill cover. He had been using it as a form of shelter from the rains that morning.

Josh didn't say a word. Tyler was already on his knees and pulling Andy from the wreckage.

No collar to speak of, Tyler named Andy after The Killers' song playing from his phone in his back pocket. It made sense.

Scratching Andy's shoulders and behind his ears, Tyler remarks, "I want to be gone when my mom comes home." He leaves the room, then, humming to Andy. Josh doesn't recognize the song. It doesn't matter.

"Tomorrow will be better," Tyler told him, and once Josh rises from bed, he's lighter than air. His skin still hurts; that won't go away for a while. Maybe Josh will grow accustomed to this pain soon. Maybe Josh never will. He'll wake every morning with screams in his throat, but he'll be alive.

He'll be alive.

Josh opens the closet.

*

Tyler's decision to be speechless upon seeing Josh in a pink hoodie is a decision Josh isn't positive he enjoys. The wardrobe choice is one Josh knew wasn't particularly appropriate for the weather outside, especially since Josh pairs the sweatshirt with a pair of basketball shorts he found on the floor. However, it covers what needs to be covered. It's a nice color, too. Tyler always told Josh that whenever he wore it.

After the brief silence, Tyler says it again. "That's a nice color."

Josh smiles. "Do you want me to drive?"

Sunglasses appear on Tyler's face. "I can."

"I guess I can let you drive my car," Josh says, "since that accident supposedly wasn't your fault."

Tyler flashes finger guns.

Saying goodbye to Andy is hard. Josh tells him he'll be back later, and the words sound unbelievable to his own ears. Andy thinks he's telling the truth. He meows at Josh and winds around his legs as if to say, "Be careful."

The first thing Tyler does once he slides into Josh's car is turn on the radio. Josh isn't embarrassed by what Tyler may find. Tyler's music taste is the same as Josh's, and the current radio station reflects that. Tyler grins and moves on to fix the seat. He has peculiar legs.

Josh sits on the passenger side with the small cloth cooler on his lap. He tugs on the zipper, fiddling.

"You're okay with the park, right?"

"Yeah."

Tyler flicks the parking pass hanging from Josh's rear-view mirror. "That's old as shit."

"Get me a new one."

"Monday," Tyler says.

Already starting off on the right foot, Josh fears any continuation might trip him and send him flying somewhere far away. Tyler's presence is a constant reminder Josh is safe, and Josh has to constantly remind himself of this. Every time he looks at Tyler, his heart bobs in his stomach acid. This sort of agony, he can't exactly ignore it. He thought apologizing would set things right, and it  _would_  have if the Tyler he pictured apologizing to in his head wasn't the caring, considerate, and passionate Tyler he was forced to forget. During their separation, Josh was fed an image of Tyler who was mean and selfish, and who would turn his back on Josh at any time Josh's problems inconvenienced him.

That isn't Tyler. Tyler's singing along to a song on the radio about fireflies as his thumbs beat out the rhythm on the steering wheel. Tyler's even bouncing in the car seat. Tyler's saying, "I know it's not a breakfast food, but I packed one of those cups of strawberry ice cream for you. It might cheer you up. I dunno."

"I thought you said you didn't have anything in the fridge." Josh tugs open the cooler, zipper sighing at the relief. The ice cream doesn't make a dent in all the water bottles and bags of baby carrots Tyler stuffed inside. "Are you going blind?" asks Josh, struggling to close the cooler after placing the ice cream and the corresponding spoon on the dashboard.

"It's all that masturbating."

"Hopefully not with the carrots."

"Not those small things."

"Tyler," Josh says, abrupt and with trembling fingers, "I'm sorry for leaving when I did. I'm not… I'm not going to act like what I did wasn't me because it  _was_  me, and I need to take responsibility for that. So, like… I'm sorry." Never mind it's not related to their previous discussion, Josh needs it off his chest. He stabs his spoon into the ice cream, the frozen treat already a little less frozen. "I'm sorry for the arguing and the passive aggressiveness, and I'm especially sorry for the part I played in making you feel insecure in your skin, your thoughts, and your relationship preferences. I thought I had seen some kind of bullshit enlightenment and—" He stuffs a bite of ice cream into his mouth to muffle any further rambling. What he's saying doesn't make sense, at least to him, and to Tyler… Josh hopes it's enough.

From the driver's seat, his arm propped on the window with his hand in his hair, Tyler isn't singing, isn't drumming, isn't bouncing. The sunglasses on his face are dark and full of obscurities, and the expression on his face is as blank as an unprimed canvas. "You were manipulated," he says. "It wasn't your fault."

"The things I said—"

"—wasn't you saying them. Yeah, okay, you  _were_  saying them, but I didn't believe for one second they were coming from you." Tyler points his thumb at Josh, an offhanded gesture. A shrug follows. "The words that came from your mouth were coming from hers, right down to those quirks she does with her lips. She had you, and she used you to hurt me. She was jealous we were together, and she was jealous I was okay with her wanting to enter our relationship. She wanted drama, so she made drama." He snaps now. "She made you feel bad for being able to love as many people as you wanted and being able to share that love with as many people as you wanted. She thought it was wrong, and she made you believe it was wrong, too. Josh," he says, and he says, "Josh, I'm not mad at you. She manipulated you, and people like her deserve whatever comes their way."

"She cheated on me," Josh whispers. "She cheated on me, and then tried to tell me it wasn't any different than what I had when I was with you."

Tyler rolls his eyes. "Infidelity and polyamory are not the same thing."

Quiet for a moment, Josh eats his ice cream, and Tyler says, "What happened last night, Josh?"

Hesitation is nonsensical. "The neighbors finally heard her beating me. They probably heard me screaming for her to stop, honestly, though." From the corner of his eye, Josh watches Tyler push his sunglasses to the top of his head. He isn't crying, not yet. Josh can tell by the way Tyler's breathing—lips parted, shoulders giving a slight shiver. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

Looking down at the swirls of strawberry melting on his spoon, Josh continues with a cautious tread. "I was in the shower, and she busted in on me and accused me of going behind her back to see some friends. I told her that morning I had plans to hang out with someone, so I  _didn't_  go behind her back. I  _told_  her that, and she said she looked through my phone and—isn't that fucked up?" Josh shakes his head. "First thing she asked for after I fucking moved in was all the passwords to my social media. She said she trusted me, but she still needed them because we should have nothing to hide. And the kicker? I never knew any of  _her_  passwords." Another shake of his head, Josh curls his fingers around his spoon and digs it into the ice cream again. The mixture has changed to mush.

"I remember when my phone died," Tyler comments, "and we wanted to order a pizza. You were in the bathroom, so I slid your phone under the door so you could enter your password for your Domino's account. Like, even as something as meaningless as an account to order pizza requires some semblance of privacy." Tyler scratches his cheek and straightens up in his seat as he sees an empty parking space ahead. "So, she went through your phone?"

Josh passes over the ice cream. Tyler tosses the rest of it in his mouth, like a shot. It's too easy to do. Somehow, Josh manages a smile. "Yeah, so, like, she went through my phone and saw where I was making plans with a friend, and then she had the audacity to accuse me of cheating on her because I apparently used one too many smiley faces in a text." Tyler holds out his hand. Josh opens the cooler and drops a bag of baby carrots into his palm. Tyler rips it, but isn't bothered. He shoves two into his mouth and chews. He sounds like a horse.

Josh is smiling again. "Um, so… we just started screaming at each other. I called her a hypocrite, and she drew back the shower curtain and, like,  _slapped_  my arm. It hurt, y'know, because I was wet and in the shower. I said, 'Ouch,' and she hit me again, and I said, 'Stop,' and she yanked the shower rod down." He isn't smiling now. He's looking ahead, past the windshield, past the middle ground. "Well"—he forces a laugh—"shit went even more downhill very fast. The neighbors called the police, they arrested her, I went to the hospital, and… I got discharged, and I didn't know where to go because I didn't want to go back there, so I came here. I bought some cat food, and then I came here."

Silent, Tyler shuts off the radio. He munches on another carrot and tips the package toward Josh for him to take one. Josh fishes one out. He holds it. He stares at it.

"Nothing broken?" Tyler cracks the windows.

"Just bruised. They, uh… they asked if I wanted a rape kit done."

Tyler closes his eyes.

"I told them I didn't, but I still asked for an examination."

Tyler shoves his sunglasses down over his face.

"Everything hurts," Josh says.

Setting his hand on Josh's wrist and the spoon in his other, Tyler speaks in a soft tone. "It's over," he tells Josh. "You're safe. She can't hurt you anymore. It's only going to get better from here on out." Tyler's thumb rubs circles into the place where Josh's pulse flutters rapidly. "Do you think you're able to get out of the car?"

Josh wipes under his nose. "Yeah."

"Eat some more carrots. I really need them out of my life."

Josh's giggle is genuine as he stuffs the packages of carrots into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie.

Even with the sun high and avoiding any and all clouds in the sky, Josh doesn't feel sticky once he steps from the car. Tyler sprints ahead to toss the ice cream cup into the nearest trash can, and Josh giggles again.

It's refreshing to walk outside and not be overwhelmed with the possibilities of everything that could go wrong—but it's still hard to come over this so soon. A never-ending process, erasing several months to a year's worth of damage isn't going to happen suddenly. Josh tries to think differently, tries to think things could get better as soon as he believes it to be. He can try to manipulate himself.

She's in his head, as she often is, as she has since dug her way into his ears and into his brain. That's what she does. That's what people like her do. She's conditioned him to think of her whenever he does even the mundane. Weaving this tale that she is the most interesting person he has come to know, she cursed his boring life and pleaded for him to listen to her whenever a thought passed through her head. "You're stupid," she admitted to him once, with her hands on her hips and her shoulders braced for a swing. "You know that, right? Don't talk unless I tell you to talk. Got it?"

She forced him to repeat these words, forced him to think these were shared secrets the world knew without anybody telling it. "I'm stupid," he told her. "I'm stupid. I'm boring. I have nothing going for me. I'm lucky to have you in my life to make me a better man."

He didn't like the taste in his mouth after speaking like this. He turned to cigarettes to remove the essence from his tongue, and she made fun of him for how he held each stick, how his hands shook as he fumbled with the lighter and the anxiety he wished he could curb.

"I'm stupid," he echoed, flicking the lighter and watching the flame dance over his thumb. "I don't deserve to love and be loved by anybody but you."

Since returning to Tyler's apartment, Josh hasn't felt the need to smoke a cigarette. His hands, though, they shake now.

And then, Tyler bumps his hand into Josh's and says, "Have I told you today how much I love you?" The sentiment is followed by Tyler shoving more carrots in his face. It's perfect.

"Not explicitly," Josh says, and loops his middle finger around Tyler's own, "but you let me have the last ice cream cup. That has to count for something."

Tyler swallows what's in his mouth before he kisses the top of Josh's head. "I like your hair this dark color." Tyler begins to walk, head hanging low and eyes on their feet as they start to the trail around the perimeter of the park. "Is this okay?" he asks now, curling his middle finger and including his index finger into the equation. "I'm not sure if you want to go back to how things were before… I don't mean to make you uncomfortable."

When Josh feels Tyler begin to pull away his hand, Josh pulls it right back. "This is okay." He turns his head and plants a kiss on Tyler's shoulder. "It's a little more than okay."

They both squeeze the other's hand at the same time.

Josh says, "It's your turn, bro. Tell me about the girl with that forked tail who tried to kill you."

Whistling through his teeth, Tyler dives a hand into Josh's hoodie to pull out more carrots. "You sure you want to know? It's kind of… uneasy."

"Uneasy how?"

Tyler pauses, brow furrowing. "How can I say this without being mean?" Pointing at Josh, using a carrot as a baton, Tyler grins " _Oh_ , here—she was a fucking asshole who deserved what came her way because she was a trans-exclusionary radical feminist."

As soon as those words hit Josh's ears, he grows ill. " _Dude_."

"I  _know_."

"How did you get involved with her?"

Brow still furrowed and now accompanied with Tyler leaning his head back and blowing out into the bare sky ahead, Tyler goes, "Long story short, I met her at Burger King with Jenna. She ended up obsessing over me and stalking me. Eventually I gave in and took her out a few dates. She… s-she, um—" Beginning to swing his and Josh's arms, Tyler looks almost frustrated with himself as he struggles to produce words. "What would you say happened if someone wasn't ready to have sex, didn't want to have sex, but had sex anyway?" Tyler's staring at their feet again. His cheeks are red. "Like, the person was scared of what might happen if they said no, so they didn't say no, but they also didn't say yes."

Josh stops walking. Tyler's mind is already a step ahead. Absently, he bites off a carrot and gives the other half to Josh.

"They didn't say yes," Josh says. "Consent can be revoked at any time. In general"—Josh waves his hand in a circle—"just because you agreed to something beforehand, and seemed excited at the opportunity, doesn't mean when the act happens, that'd you be okay with it." Josh tugs on Tyler's hand. Tyler walks reluctantly, though doesn't complain once Josh drags them under the shelter of a gazebo. "Nothing else matters in this scenario, Tyler. You didn't say yes."

"I told her I felt like I was going to throw up, and she laughed at me." Tyler lets go of Josh's hand and sits down. He misses the bench in favor of the wooden planks with tally marks and initials made with permanent marker.

"Did you tell anyone what happened?" Josh takes over the bench, letting his legs stretch along it. "I know it'd be hard. People usually have a tricky time believing someone was coerced. There's even the matter of the victim and what they label the incident themself." Picking at his nails, Josh keeps an eye on Tyler, who's now slowly lying down on the flooring, limbs outstretched like a starfish. Josh licks his lips. "Like, for instance, with me, I read some articles about these people—mainly girls—who were hesitant to call what happened to them rape, but didn't shy away from calling it non-consensual. I related to some of it; I wouldn't say I was raped or my ex was a rapist… but the sex I had with my ex, from time to time, wasn't completely consensual."

Tyler takes the sunglasses from his face, folds them up, and balances them on his sternum. "I'm trying to… I have to do mental gymnastics every now and then when I wake up because even to this day, I find blaming myself for what happened is easy. I told myself that if I hadn't led her on, that if I had just kept her a healthy distance away, then maybe I wouldn't have been trapped in that room with her." Fingers curling, Tyler says, "It's incredibly hard to tell someone. You're right. I got the courage to tell Jenna, and I ended up telling my mom after I had to go to the doctor for bacterial vaginosis." Suddenly, Tyler bursts out laughing. He grabs his sunglasses to keep them from tipping over and breaking. "It took forever for my pussy to get better, but my pussy got better."

Tyler's laugh, while from the heart, rings somber. Josh digs out another carrot as Tyler settles onto his back and spreads out his limbs again. The steady rise and fall of his chest is comforting. "I hate that word," he sighs.

"Rolls off the tongue better," Josh says.

"You get me." Turning his head, Tyler scans Josh. From the vans on his feet to the dark curls on his head, Tyler takes it all in with his teeth digging into his lips. It hurts to watch. Josh won't pretend it doesn't hurt.

A moment passes, then Tyler reverts to the ceiling. "Thankfully, they believed me when I told them. They helped me feel better. They helped me feel less alone… like I had a support system. She tried to break me down. She continued to harass me, told everybody I was her new girlfriend and t-that… that…" Tyler has to close his eyes.

Josh closes his eyes, too.

"I confronted her one last time," Tyler continues, voice barely above a whisper. "I told her to fuck off. I told her to stop telling people we were together and that I was a girl. She kept calling me a girl, said it was because she saw what was between my legs. She said she was a lesbian and didn't date men, so how could she possibly be dating me if I was a boy? I yelled at her. I said, 'That's right!'" Tyler points at the chipped paint and ceiling beams. "'You  _aren't_  dating me! Leave me alone, please.'" Tyler's arm falls to rest by his side. His eyes are open. "And then, I ran away. I jumped in Jenna's car, and we went back to her house and ate cake."

"But that didn't stop her." Josh swings his legs around and continues swinging them.

Tyler rises silently. "She was obsessed with me. She was everywhere… I was finally strong enough. I felt  _vindicated_  in a way. I was on top of the world, and she kept trying to make herself known to me. It sickened me. On the other hand, it was unbelievably  _hilarious_." Positively glowing, Tyler stares at Josh now, and he doesn't look away. "I understand loving someone and thinking you couldn't live without them, but when you grow co-dependent and try to deny that co-dependence, that's when problems develop. Her obsession wasn't cute. It was harmful." Pulling his legs underneath him and pressing his hands to his thighs, Tyler makes a move to stand. Yet, he stays there, getting dirt on his jeans and not caring at all. "So, one day," he says, breaking off into a sigh, "Jenna was going to meet me at the police station. I was going to file a restraining order."

"Is that when she tried to kill you?"

Tyler's grin this time is humorous. Glee holds him together, like a glue Josh hasn't seen in use since stepping foot in Tyler's apartment last night. "Yeah! She knew I was going to the police! And she tried to stop me!" He shakes his head and shoves his sunglasses back on his face. Despite the radiant energy, Tyler's face is pale with his sunglasses serving as a pair of bug eyes. "After the hospital visit, I did manage to finally get a restraining order. She violated it once and finally fled the state with some girl she said was her soulmate."

Josh remembers Tyler's voice this morning. "She ended up dying a few days later," he said, and Tyler finishes the tale with that exact anecdote.

"She ended up dying a few days later," he says, and gives a slow nod of his head. "Got into an argument with her self-proclaimed soulmate and was killed in self-defense—how about that?"

"How about that?" Josh muses.

They turn their heads to watch kids hang from a jungle gym. Their knees bend, bodies propelling forward. Josh looks at the clouds and thinks this might be a dream.

As if in slow motion, Tyler plucks a dandelion growing between the planks. He twirls it with care, inspecting from all angles. The fluff is aplenty. "Sometimes I feel bad when I think about her now." Tyler lowers his arm a bit, shoulders pushed back in an attempt to make his spine straight. "I'm filled with so much hate for her, and I hate how much it consumes me at moments like this. I hate it so much." Jaw set, Tyler peels off the top layer of his lip. He sucks it into his mouth to stop the bleeding. "I reasoned with myself that people like her deserved to experience the same amount of bad as they put out. She was a bad person. Your ex was bad, and she got what she deserved. This TERF, she got what she deserved, and I couldn't be happier."

"It's like…" Josh shrugs. He sticks his hands into his hoodie pocket, feeling empty wrappings. "I always wonder if it makes us bad people for wishing bad on these people. I dunno. Maybe it's not as complicated as I'm making it out to be."

"We're good people, Josh, who have had bad things happen to us. We grow. We mess up, and we  _grow_. These people thrive in their mistakes. These people stay stagnant and will wither and die in the grave they dug themselves long ago."

"Karma," concludes Josh.

"Yes," agrees Tyler, and presents the dandelion to Josh. "Make a wish."

Josh shuts his eyes and blows.

"Do you want to go to Olive Garden tonight?" Tyler asks.

Gasping, Josh touches his chest. "That was my wish!"

Tyler's cheeks are pink. When he pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head, his eyes are wet. He says, "Shut up," and Josh smiles.

*

They play footsie under the table.

Tyler pays for dinner.

It's just like old times.

*

In the parking lot in front of their apartment complex, Tyler takes Josh's hand and asks, "Do we need to go to her place to get your things?" Josh might have left Tyler with nothing but the clothes on his back and his phone charger. This time around, this journey resembled the previous one.

Tyler's watching Josh carefully, eyes boring into Josh's temple. When Josh shakes his head, Tyler shakes his head, too. "I think I understand," he says.

"I left my keys on the counter and called the landlord about getting off the lease. He said it wasn't going to be a problem." Josh's fingers twitch.

"I don't want to make it sound like you're dependent on me, but your clothes, your laptop, your…" Tyler closes his eyes. The breath he takes in is shaky, a mixture between a delightful sigh and an attempt to smother a laugh.

Josh butts his head into Tyler's shoulder.

Tyler holds the back of his neck. "We don't have to call my landlord," he says, lips against Josh's ear. "I never told her you left."

"Do you want me to compensate you for the rent I owe?"

"There's no need." Tyler pets his neck. It's not demeaning. It's slow, measured, and paired with Tyler's fingernails giving the smallest of massages. "There's no need, Josh.  _You're_   _here_. You came back." Tyler turns his head, his forehead to Josh's cheek, his eyelashes fluttering against Josh's cheek. "You came back."

They take the elevator to their apartment unit. When the doors open to allow them inside, Josh catches the reflection of a man who is graced and utterly relaxed. Still patchy with blue and pink and the occasional twinge of pain in the gums, Josh looks upon this man and doesn't exactly despise what he sees. Tyler stands next to him, in the elevator, and stares at his reflection with Josh. Stick straight, a tad less graceful and relaxed than his counterpart, and dead eyes to complete the ensemble, Tyler needs his bed. He needs his heating pad. Josh holds the small of Tyler's back and finds Tyler's smile contagious.

Before heading into the bedroom to alleviate his back pain, Tyler entertains his mother. As they step into the entranceway, Tyler greets her with a hug, a kiss to her cheek, and an offering of breadsticks left over from their dinner. Josh busies himself in the kitchen, placing ice packs in the freezer and the spoon in the sink. He doesn't remember the location of the cooler itself, so he puts that on a counter.

"Of course we tipped, Mom," Tyler says.

She pinches Tyler's cheek.

Josh dumps the carrot packages into the trash can.

Tyler's nose might be scrunched up, but he doesn't mind one bit. He hugs her again. "We're gonna catch some shut-eye. Do you need anything?"

Her silence is confusing to Josh. His back is to them, though, so he's not entirely sure what she's conveying with this silence. She may be looking at Tyler, may be smiling, may be raising her eyebrows—she could be doing all three. What Josh knows for certain, she's telling Tyler, "Sleep tight. I love you."

"I love you, too, Mama."

"You need to cut your hair."

Tyler's silence is the greatest sound in the world. He smacks another kiss to his mom's cheek.

Josh beats Tyler into the bedroom. Andy's here, sitting pretty and dozing all the while. He's just sat down, presumably after a dinner of his own. Telling him hello first and switching on the lamp on Tyler's nightstand, Josh picks up the cat and holds him like an infant. Andy's receptive. He curls and clings and chirps.

Not waiting to take off his shoes and change into pajamas, Tyler fixes the bed covers and unrolls his heating pad. He sets it just right, patting down the edges and making sure the cord is free of tangles.

From Josh's past nights in this room, he knows the cat in his arms can turn devilish in the witching hour. What he lacks in claws, he makes up for in teeth, and Josh was a victim of broken phone chargers once in a blue moon. Andy liked the cord to Tyler's heating pad more. It connected to a remote with a glowing red light. Andy was smart. His teeth were sharp, but the cord was thick, and Tyler always knew when to roll over and scoop him from the carpet. Tyler would hug him. Andy would sleep. And Josh would watch and love them.

Andy's sleepy. He keeps his eyes shut, his ears turned frontward, ignoring all signs of Tyler getting out the heating pad. He doesn't even mind Josh beginning to rub the side of his face. Instead of disgust, Andy leans into the touch and purrs even louder. Quickly, Josh delivers a peck to his head, between his ears. Andy stretches with spread-out toes.

Once the bed covers are down and the heating pad is warming to the appropriate setting, Tyler sits and removes his shoes. He rises afterward, bare feet against carpet and crosses his arms over his chest. Not a mean gesture or a defiant one at all, his arms are ready for Josh to gently place Andy into them. Josh does just that. Andy is none the wiser.

Josh pokes around the dresser in the corner of the room. The drawer is stiff, needing Josh to jiggle it for it to open fully. This is normal. He remembers this, and the clothes in here, old graphic tees and soft pairs of sweatpants. Josh pulls out an outfit that doesn't match at all. Tyler laughs from behind him. Josh laughs, too.

Tyler's back to him, Josh changes clothes. Ever the gentleman, Tyler focuses on Andy and making sure he gets a good spot on the bed that doesn't necessarily consist of the heating pad. Tyler won't mind sharing with him, if it comes down to it. At first, though, Tyler needs all the healing power to himself.

Dirty clothes into the hamper, Josh climbs into the bed while Tyler switches spots with him by the dresser. From the foot of the bed, Andy blinks at Josh. Josh slowly blinks back. The tip of Andy's tail twitches.

"You can turn on the TV if you want," Tyler says, disappearing from the room for a second. He returns with a water bottle. Andy gets a sniff of the lid before Tyler breaks the seal.

"Remote," Josh says, and Tyler slides the remote over to Josh.

"I don't know what to watch," Josh says, and Tyler leans over and kisses Josh's forehead.

"Sit tight," Tyler says. He pushes himself off the bed and ducks into the closet.

Josh can't trust his own face. Resting the remote on his knee for a moment, Josh hides his burning face in his hands, only regaining control upon hearing Tyler move boxes in his closet. Josh shifts his weight to the left to peer to the best of his ability. Andy's interested now. However, he doesn't make any move to show this interest. They keep watch from the bed, ready to jump if needed, but would rather not leave the bed.

Tyler emerges with the unthinkable.

As if Andy were curled up nice and cozy into his chest once more, two animals occupy the crook of Tyler's elbows. Both small, both a little ratty with matted fur and drool stains marking the dark patches along their body, and both gazing at Josh with their welcoming black plastic bead eyes, Josh didn't think he'd see these again. Staring at them now, Josh feels a sense of shame washing over him for even thinking of the alternative for a split second. Tyler isn't like the exes who throw out their past partner's belongings. He wouldn't have built a pit in the backyard and started a bonfire made from stuffing and childhood dreams. No, Tyler handled these objects with great care, as well as the rest of Josh's possessions. Tyler packaged them nice and neat. He kept them in cardboard boxes lined with dryer sheets. He kept them in his closet.

"Gadget and Gizmo!" Josh exclaims, opening his arms for the toys.

He wonders when Tyler packed these into that cardboard box for safe keeping. The dryer sheets may have been plentiful in that box, but the scent of it is faint. Josh isn't overwhelmed with the delicate smell of lavender and flowers when he presses his nose into the ears of each of the animals. That's faint. It's present, but it's faint. What overwhelms him is  _Tyler_. Josh smells Tyler.

Josh smells Tyler.

"Thank you," Josh says.

Tyler isn't like those exes who destroy everything their past partners touched. Tyler is barely an ex. Josh wouldn't go as far as to label him that. In the deepest part of his heart, there resides a chamber devoted solely to his love for Tyler. It's too big and not big enough, often vibrating from how much the contents threaten to burst and be shown to the world. Josh feels safe when he's with Tyler. Even on their bad days, where they are unable to communicate verbally and where, if they are able to speak, they might actively go out of their way to irritate each other, they still make sure they're  _okay_. They still care. Of course, they still care.

Josh regrets walking from this apartment that day. He regrets reverting to someone who was nasty and mean and unkind. He regrets getting swept up with a person he thought to be the greatest person in the world when the greatest person in the world is climbing into bed with him right now.

"I tried to… preserve them." Tyler fixes the pillows just right, propping them along the headboard on both his side of the bed and Josh's. "I know they're old and… and…" He pauses, hands raised to fluff a pillow, but they slowly drop to angle the heating pad slightly toward Josh. Tyler's back must not be hurting him to the extent it could be. Still, Tyler makes sure it cradles every bit of his lower back after he sips from the water bottle next to his charging phone. Tyler hasn't touched it since Josh came home. A feat within itself, Tyler liked to joke about being addicted to his phone. Something else preoccupies him.

Finally finishing his thought, with pink cheeks to match, Tyler says, "I hope you don't mind I slept with them for a bit."

Gadget and Gizmo, a black lab and husky respectively, were Josh's comfort objects. He was a mess the first night he didn't have them near him. She laughed at him. He should have seen that as a red flag. While he didn't have them around last night, Josh thinks he managed to sleep through the night, albeit with a nightmare, because Tyler was close. Tyler had that effect on him.

"It didn't make me feel better," Tyler says, quiet, "but it felt right."

Josh says, "I really want to kiss you right now, Tyler."

Tyler says, "Oh."

Josh is about to apologize when Tyler tells him, "If you kissed me right now, I'd kiss you back." And then, he pulls the blanket over his nose and peeks at Josh. If Josh didn't know any better, he'd think Tyler was uncomfortable and trying to diffuse the tension. But Tyler's eyes are narrowing, and they're glowing in the dim light of the room. His brow twitches into a furrow, twitches into an arch, twitches into another furrow. Tyler's smiling under the blanket, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

Oh, God, does Josh want to tug on that blanket and—

He leans in and kisses Tyler's mouth. The blanket's there, a border, but Josh kisses Tyler anyway. He fears he missed his mark until Tyler exhales, and his lips part. Eyes still open, watching Josh, still playful, Tyler lightly prods the blanket with his tongue. Josh prods right back and closes his eyes.

When Tyler yanks away the blanket, Josh expects he'll tip forward and his lips, his lips, Tyler's lips—Tyler's kissing his cheek, his chin, everywhere but his mouth. Josh crumbles. He crumbles into Tyler and suddenly, he's crying, and Tyler's holding the hair at the back of his head and letting him cry into the sleeve of his "HONKY" t-shirt.

"I don't want you to feel like a rebound," Josh says. "I like to think I have more respect than that."

"Breathe," Tyler whispers, "and listen to me. It wouldn't be a rebound if we've been together all along." Quieter now, quieter than quiet, Tyler says, "I've always loved you, Josh.

And Josh says, "I've always loved you, Tyler."

Gizmo has less drool stains, so after detaching himself from Tyler's shoulder, Josh hands it over to Tyler. Tyler takes the dog with shaking hands. Moving slowly, as to not frighten Tyler—if that's even possible now—Josh lowers himself onto his stomach and presses his cheek to a pillow. He tucks Gadget under his arm.

Tyler searches for the TV remote. Josh passes it over as Tyler places Gizmo in the space between his arm and chest. "We'll take this slow," he says. "Let's just focus on tomorrow. What do you want to do?"

"Can we just stay in bed and sleep tomorrow?"

Tomorrow is Sunday.

Tyler says, "Yes," and settles on watching  _Titanic_.

Josh falls asleep to that hand smacking the window.

*

Waking up isn't easy when she continues to frequent his dreams. He knows this is a process. It's going to take time. He also knows this isn't fair. He shouldn't be made to suffer and sweat over the fear of her somehow popping back into his life and returning it to a living embodiment of Hell.

The slightest movement forces the bruises to scream for any kind of relief. Briefly, Josh wishes he were able to remove his skin and color out the bruises that way. His muscles and what lies beneath, he'll be fine with the pain there. It's the way he looks that bothers him. He can hurt and hurt and hurt until the end of time. He just doesn't want Tyler to see it.

Josh thinks the look on Tyler's face, if he ever sees the bruises, would hurt more than the bruises themselves.

Once, when he wakes, Tyler's sound asleep. With the television and lamp turned off, the only source of light is the streetlamps outside the window. It's eerie in the room, almost unwelcoming. Josh shivers, pulls Gadget closer to his chest, and shuts his eyes. When he opens them, Tyler is turned onto his side, facing Josh, arms curled up and fists against his throat. Snores escape, soft, and sometimes Tyler's lips tremble. Josh is careful as he raises the blanket's hem and covers Tyler's mouth.

He shuts his eyes again, and when he opens them this time, Tyler is closer to him, rolled onto his stomach, Gizmo's head obscuring his own face. It's still dark, still nighttime, and Josh is convinced no time has passed at all.

The next time he wakes, Tyler is awake, too, and watching him. "Do you want to talk?" he asks, because, like Josh, he hasn't been able to sleep well either. Every time Josh tossed, Tyler turned. They fed off each other. Did Tyler have nightmares, too?  _Let Tyler be okay_ , Josh wills, and sets his hand Tyler's chest.

Tyler watches him, eyes drifting down to look at Josh's arm. He's lying on his side again, head propped up by his fist, elbow to the mattress. Josh could push him over. Josh could climb. Josh could do a lot of things, but he keeps his hand on Tyler's chest and says, "I want to listen more than talk."

Tyler places his hand on top of Josh's. "What can I tell you?" he ponders to himself, tapping Josh's thumb with his own. "I started going to a therapist a few weeks ago. Um…" Tyler pauses to collect his thoughts. He glances at Josh, smiling a bit after seeing Josh smile. Encouragement, Josh even nods and drums his fingers against Tyler's sternum. Tyler smiles more, but then he loses that smile, and Josh loses his smile, as well. "That asshole, she tried to say… I wasn't actually mentally ill because I didn't have it  _as bad_  as her."

"That's gross."

"Right?" Tyler bites his lip. He removes his hand from Josh's and drops his other hand from his head. "She said"—Tyler stretches out his arm—"I didn't  _struggle_ "—angles his wrist up—"with self-harm and—"

Josh covers Tyler's wrist immediately.

Tyler lowers his head.

"That's  _even more_  gross," Josh says. "It's not just because she blatantly ignored your own problems due to her own selfishness. It's because she thinks the only valid form of mental illness to be taken seriously is one that forces you to harm yourself. Her way of thinking is disgusting and very disturbing."

"She knows I've hurt myself, though," Tyler tries to explain, his face scrunching up. "She knows I wear rubber bands and that I would flick myself until red whelps showed up on my arms. She's seen that and, and, and—" Lips trembling, Tyler spits out, "She's seen all my scars on my wrists and my chest and stomach and thighs a-and—"

Josh is the one to pull Tyler into his shoulder to let Tyler stain the sleeve with tears. "Fuck her, okay?  _Fuck her_."

"How can someone be so evil, Josh?"

"I don't know, Tyler."

"I just don't understand how she can possibly think she can police mental illness like that on the bias of  _everybody gets a little sad or anxious sometimes_." Finding the strength to detach himself from Josh, Tyler falls onto his back. The movement startles Andy, still residing at the foot of the bed. He produces a " _mmph_ " noise, something that forces Josh to immediately sit up and pat the top of his head. "Yes, everybody gets a little sad or anxious sometimes," Tyler says, "but she knew, you know? She  _knew_."

Josh turns to Tyler. "You said something about how you told her you were going to throw up, and she laughed at you? Any rational person should know that's not a type of anxiety  _just anybody_  can experience."

"She wasn't rational."

"Yeah, I'm getting that impression." Lying on his back, Josh returns next to Tyler. Tyler immediately goes into the safety of Josh's neck. Josh welcomes Tyler with open arms. "I remember you told me you felt like throwing up when we had our first kiss."

"You didn't laugh at me," Tyler says into Josh's skin.

Josh squeezes Tyler. "I held your hand."

Tyler squeezes Josh. "You held my hand."

Tyler closes his eyes, and quietly, he says, "Anyway… moral of the story… She used to put me down and say my mental illness didn't exist because I never had a professional diagnosis. So, I went to a therapist. I didn't need a professional to tell me what I already knew, but it felt nice to hear someone say it. It felt nice to talk out some things I didn't feel comfortable talking to Jenna or my mom or anyone else about… I mean… I don't know. It just felt nice."

Josh wants nothing more than to take all the hurt in Tyler's body and dispel it to a place no one will inhabit. "I'm sorry for not being available."

"It wasn't your fault," Tyler murmurs.

This rings throughout the room. It's slow, bouncing off the walls.

Pulling Tyler in close to his side is too easy. Josh doesn't want it to be this easy ever with Tyler. Like a rag doll, Tyler bends, folds, and becomes someone Josh doesn't enjoy seeing. The threat of tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but Tyler doesn't see. That's okay. Josh cradles the side of Tyler's face. He says, "It wasn't your fault either." He means this with every bone in his body. Oh, does he mean this.

Tyler's crying again, and Josh sees, Josh feels, and Josh holds Tyler.

It takes a few minutes for Tyler's sniffs to turn into snores. Josh appreciates those sounds.

He dreams of nothing, and he appreciates that, too.

*

They only leave the room to use the bathroom and to grab some food. Tyler's mom doesn't bother them much. She peeks in from time to time to make sure they're eating. She isn't worried. She says she isn't.

When Josh is in the kitchen to bring more water bottles to their bedside, she tells Josh, "I'm glad you're here with him. His down moments aren't as bad as they would be if he were alone in there."

"He has Andy," Josh says, the cat now keeping to the pillows by their heads rather than the blankets by their feet.

She rubs Josh's arm. "Andy's Andy. Andy isn't you."

Tyler asks him about work as he's handing Tyler a bottle of water. "Jenna doesn't talk about work a lot," he says, and takes a drink. "Whenever she did, though… she let me know how you were doing, like, appearance-wise."

"What was her verdict?" asks Josh. Jenna's always been a good friend to him, ever since she made him feel welcome at the daycare on his first day. Her existence was a kind feature to his mornings; she greeted him with a hug, a smile, and an insistence for them to talk on their lunch break. She never prodded him deeply, never asked him questions that would make him uncomfortable. She hugged him. She smiled at him. She filled the air with small talk.

Tyler shrugs, fiddling with the water bottle cap. He rolls it between index finger and thumb. "She said you looked fine, but she didn't feel like you were  _actually fine_. She didn't know how to ask if everything was okay, so she just… didn't…" Tyler slowly frowns. "She didn't want to impose."

Hands raised, Josh nods once. "I get it. I get it." And he does. No matter what he told her, he knows she might not have believed him. If he told her he was in love and very much happy with his current situation, she would have smiled and pat his hand. She wouldn't have seen any visible bruises, and she wouldn't have had any reason to  _not_  believe anything that came from his mouth. She didn't know this girl. She wanted Josh happy.

But she also wanted Tyler happy, too, and Tyler wasn't happy. Jenna tried to wiggle out answers of hope to instill into Tyler. Telling Tyler she thought Josh wasn't as fine as he let on would have no doubt made Tyler a little hopeful—and guilty. Josh can only imagine how Tyler might have felt to find a scrap of glee if Josh ended up being unhappy in his relationship. Maybe he would reason with himself that wishing ill on the person who arguably  _stole_  Josh from him was charitable, in a fucked-up kind of way. Praying for misfortune on bad people is normal. Bad people deserve nothing but bad things. Josh was just caught in the crosshairs. It led to this.

Josh wonders where he and Tyler would be if they hadn't separated.

He doesn't dwell on it.

Looking too out of place in his own bed, Tyler sets the water on the nightstand. He lingers there, spending time shoving the bottle inch by inch away from the edge. His face is scrunching up again. This time, it's a little softer. "So, are you going to work tomorrow?" He sits there, the blanket over his lap, face still soft, voice still hesitant. "I don't know how much pain you're in right now."

"Maybe a four?" Josh guesses.

Tyler opens his arms. Josh is eager to be enveloped once again. He isn't disappointed.

"I'm going to work tomorrow. I want things to go back to normal." If Josh speaks this into existence, it might actually happen. Speaking this into existence, though, comes out wrong. Josh is weak. He wobbles. Without Tyler's arms around him, he would crumble. He dares not cry. There have been enough tears spilled this weekend.

Where Josh is weak, Tyler is strong. Where Josh is gentle, Tyler is more so. He holds Josh. The pressure on Josh's back is almost relaxing.

When able, Tyler's voice was something Josh tapped into for relief. Tyler loved to talk. Tyler loved to whisper. Tyler loved to sing.

And he sings now, right into the crown of Josh's head, "Rock-a-bye, baby, on the tree top, when the wind blows, the cradle will rock…"

*

Josh doesn't rise from the bed until it's Monday morning. He eats breakfast with Tyler and his mother. A bowl of cereal and nothing else, Josh can't stomach a lot. He consumes what he can, and then excuses himself to the bathroom.

It takes everything he has to prevent himself from dropping to his knees and vomiting.

He manages. All he can do is manage.

Tyler knocks on the door. He says, "Is it okay if I pick out something for you to wear?"

Seeing nothing wrong with this scenario, Josh agrees, to which Tyler responds, "When I come in there, you better be completely dry." Without any bite to his bark, the threats from his mouth fall short. Even if he did acquire a sudden aversion to Josh's affinity for air-drying after a shower, it's not like he'd do anything. Pout, yes, he'd pout—but Josh thinks Tyler looks cute when he pouts. Bottom lip out and his chin giving the slightest quiver, Tyler sometimes even paired this with a whine. It'd break into a smile almost instantaneously. Tyler loved smiling around Josh.

He's smiling as soon as Josh gives him permission to enter the bathroom after another knock on the door. Josh is sitting on the toilet with a towel wrapped around his waist by now. The droplets from the shower are sparse on his shoulders. Tyler stares at them suspiciously, tutting all the while. He closes the door behind him and sets the clothes he chose for Josh on the sink. There's color there—yellow.

Josh says, "I can't wear this."

Tyler says, "Be quiet, dude. I want you to be comfortable."

Wearing Tyler's mustard-yellow hoodie would be the pinnacle of comfort.

"I'll wear your pink hoodie," Tyler tells him.

"I think there're cigarettes in the pocket." He isn't exactly sure why he points this out; it's not like it's contraband. It's hardly the end of the world for Josh to smoke, especially in Tyler's vicinity. They used to chainsmoke in alleys and behind abandoned buildings when they weren't able to quell the noise in their heads during nightfall. Josh can smell it faintly in the pillowcases from those odd occasions where they would share a cigarette after fucking. It's faint, though,  _faint_ —and Tyler's clothes don't reek of it anymore.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Josh says, "I don't think you smoke anymore, so, like, you won't be tempted, but… they're still there…" He drifts in favor of dressing. Tyler spins, arms going over his chest, and drops his head to focus on his toes. Josh glances at him, mindful. Josh thinks Tyler even grabbed a pair of his own leggings to wear.

"When was the last time you smoked?" Tyler asks, and slowly turns back around to face Josh once Josh gives him a pat on his arm. Reaching around him, Tyler takes the discarded towel and folds it. "Your car smells like it—not like that's  _bad_  or anything. I don't mind it because, y'know, I'm used to it, but… you know."

Josh starts with, "I'm trying to stop," and then, shaking his head, adds, "She stressed me out so much."

Tyler kisses Josh's shoulder and kisses it again at Josh's unexpected shiver. "You're safe now," he says. "You're safe now."

*

Until Josh's reappearance, Tyler would travel to and from work by himself. However, due to the recent accident resulting in his car becoming totaled, his mother stepped in to help. She was already here to make sure he was in as little pain as possible. Being a chauffeur is part of that ease of access. Now, Josh is here, and Josh likes driving. He likes driving with Tyler in the car. He likes being with Tyler.

Yellow and pink, they are quiet during their morning commute. Tyler placed a travel mug in Josh's cup holder when he climbed into the car. Coffee resides inside, just how Josh likes it without Josh asking for it.

Tyler sips what he claims is definitely not Red Bull from his own travel mug. "I'll probably be working late today. I'll text you when I'm ready to come home."

"Same ol' same ol'?"

"We have two oil changes scheduled. Tire rotations, too, if I'm remembering right." Tyler scratches the side of his head. "They've been going easy on me since the wreck." Absently, the hand once in his hair drops to the armrest. Josh watches Tyler pick at his nails from the corner of his eye. "Most of my time is spent in that spare garage down the road from there." Tyler now watches Josh from the corner of his eye. He still picks at his nails. "I've been working on more personal pieces, like… abstract stuff. Well, not completely abstract because it's still recognizable."

Josh doesn't have to dig deep to remember Tyler's preferred weapon. "I always liked watching you weld."

Tyler blushes, a reaction Josh wasn't expecting in the slightest. He doesn't see this as something worth being embarrassed over, but Tyler's a funny guy. He's blushing and drowning himself in not-Red Bull and saying, "I recorded myself welding a few times and was gonna send you the videos. I, like, chickened out for some reason. I don't know why." Tyler dares not raise his head from his lap and his picking fingers. "I don't know why I thought I couldn't text you when we were… separated. I guess I thought—" Tyler scratches his head again. "I don't know what I thought, Josh."

"I'd like to see the videos," Josh considers, hands relaxing on the steering wheel. "Maybe you can send them to me, and then I can watch them on my lunch break or something."

"Maybe," Tyler whispers. "Maybe I can do that."

As if everything is normal, before he leaves Josh's car, Tyler leans over the central console and smacks a wet kiss on Josh's cheek. "I'll text you," he says, and Josh says, "I'll text you back."

As if nothing has changed, Jenna greets Josh with a big hug when he walks into the daycare. "You look happy today," she says, and Josh says, "I moved back in with Tyler on Friday."

Jenna frowns. She frowns, and that's out of the ordinary. Her hand is careful on his shoulder. She wants to hug him and never let go. "Later, okay? Later."

"Later," Josh agrees.

And as if this were any other day, the excitable bounces and sing-song voices of the kids stabilize Josh. They don't notice anything out of place when they see Josh; Josh has simply turned up to another day at work. He scribbles in crayon with them. He eats animal crackers with them. He reads books to them. And throughout it all, Josh is smiling.

Jenna, however, isn't oblivious nor naïve. Despite how hard he tries to not draw attention to himself, every time he moves, a wince escapes him, and Jenna has her eyes right on him at the sighs on his lips. An angel in a poor disguise, Jenna takes over whenever the kids want him to do anything strenuous. She takes them outside. She pushes them on the swings. She aides them in cartwheels. And throughout it all, she is smiling.

Josh is smiling, too. As this unfolds, he keeps to the bench. It doesn't hurt here.

He knows time heals all wounds, but he's so impatient.

Lunchtime comes around, and Josh finds the bench a comfortable spot as any to drag out his phone and try to think of how he could possibly tell Jenna everything that happened over the course of this past year. She's currently walking toward him, ice cream cones in toll. It's their turn to relax. The other workers have their hands full now.

Josh doesn't know what about ice cream that makes it possess healing properties, and at this point in his life, he knows it's pointless to question it. So, he takes the ice cream from Jenna as she occupies the spot next to him. He's thankful for her silence, if only for a moment. With no notifications to speak of on his phone, not even a text from Tyler, Josh shoves the device under his leg and focuses on his totally healthy lunch. He thinks he deserves brain freeze. He waits to lick the vanilla swirl until this desire passes.

"Okay," Josh says, and nods.

Jenna turns her head to look at him. Quiet again, she just smiles, encouraging him to speak freely. They're alone. The kids are sitting far away, at picnic tables, inside. Josh can say anything without any fear of them overhearing and growing worried.

He shakes a little. Jenna places her hand on his thigh. "You don't have to tell me the details," she tells him. "For right now, you can let me know you're safe."

"I am."

"And Tyler," Jenna says, "is he being supportive?" Her eyes waver the slightest bit, just to glance at Josh's chest, at the strings of the hoodie, one hanging lower than the other. A smile pinches her cheeks.

Josh looks at the strings, too. "Tyler's  _great_ ," he whispers.

Jenna gives his thigh a pat. "That's all I need to know. Eat your ice cream."

They eat quietly. Josh is content.

*

Josh is sitting in his car, trying to compose a tell-all message for Jenna, when Tyler texts him. It's accusatory, but not mean-spirited— _is that your car out front?_

He shoots back,  _And what about it?_  before returning to his conversation with Jenna. There's an outline already stored in his notes app, just the bare backbone of the grand scheme of things. It needs a bit fleshing out, he knows, but he also knows to not delve too much. If he goes day-by-day, that would be overkill, and as everyone recalls, only lies have that much detail.

 _She cheated on me_ , his thumbs send without his permission.  _I guess talking about your wedding and what song you'd use for your first dance means nothing nowadays._

Performative—that's what it was. Couples who rush into marriage and even the discussion of sorts, it's all done to make others believe they're the perfect example for others to follow. The lies and deceitful behaviors, those are stored away for no one to see until they have everybody under their insecure wing.

Josh played along because he thought he was in love. It seemed like everybody but him knew how good she was at manipulating him.

Jenna reads this message and responds,  _I'm so sorry, Josh._

 _She beat me too_ , Josh says, fire under his nails.  _The neighbors heard and called the police. She didn't know how to explain all my bruises, but of course she denied them. She said she loved me. She said she would never do that to me._

With Tyler, their first date was a trip to Tyler's makeshift art studio. Still that spare garage he's working in now, Tyler didn't have much material to his name, but what he lacked in the physical realm, he made up for with his plethora of ideas. He pulled out a sketchbook and showed Josh everything he wanted to do once he acquired more skill.

Possibly due to the stench of melted steel nestled in his brain, Josh thought Tyler was quite handsome as he stood there pointing at each slapdash drawing and explaining the concept behind each one with no regards to if Josh was following along. That's how Tyler was. Once he jumped on the ball, he flew and excelled at that flight because he felt safe, comfortable,  _free_.

His cheeks were pink. His head was shaved. Josh wanted to kiss him everywhere.

When Tyler turned from his sketches of amorphous and anthropomorphic forms, Josh asked if he could kiss Tyler.

Tyler smiled, nodded, and leaned in to meet Josh halfway. He said, "I think I might throw up," so Josh held his hand and told him, "I can kiss you later."

Later to Tyler meant a  _minute_  later. He kissed Josh's cheek first, and then, with parted lips, Josh tilted his head, and Tyler kissed him and kissed him.

Josh knew Tyler was trans. They first met at the pharmacy picking up their respective testosterone prescription. Tyler spun around too fast after leaving the register and ran into Josh. He dropped everything, and Josh picked it right up. "Oh!" he said, and rattled the vial in the white paper bag. "Me, too!"

Their grins were easy. Everything fell together with no bumps nor bruises. They didn't talk of marriage because they both believed it wasn't meant for them. "And," Tyler said one night, "bigamy's illegal."

That might have been the deciding factor for Josh to want Tyler to stick around for the rest of his life.

They had a few partners here and there who were interested in them, but these partners were always temporary. Josh didn't necessarily mind that, in retrospect. No matter what happened or how bad it may get, he still had Tyler—until he didn't.

 _Please tell me Tyler didn't do his I Told You So spiel_ , Jenna says.

_He had a spiel planned?_

Jenna sends,  _Not exactly, but he told me he felt she had ill intentions and wished he was wrong. He had a gut feeling something was going on. He tried to ignore it._

Josh bites the inside of his cheek.  _You can't ignore gut feelings._

_I'm sorry, Josh._

He thinks about throwing his phone against his dash. It vibrates in his hand, another message, this one from Tyler— _if i pay, do you wanna hit up taco bell?_

Instead of smashing the phone screen into the dash, Josh grips it tightly and raises his head. Across the street, standing beneath a streetlamp, Tyler waves at him. From here, Josh can see he's smiling with his whole heart. It's a delightful sight to see Tyler standing on tiptoe and glowing as bright as the pink of his hoodie.

Offering a small wave back, Josh quickly types an affirmative to Tyler. Tyler darts to the car, leaping inside and immediately beginning to bounce in the seat. "I didn't even text you I was ready to be picked up. You just  _came_."

"I remembered what time you usually got off." Josh pulls from his parking spot. Tyler punches the buttons on the radio, flicking through the stations and chewing on his lip as he does so. "Are you in any pain?" asks Josh. He also remembers Tyler being in less-than-good moods when returning home from work. Tyler seems to be doing okay right now. He's still smiling, still trying to find the perfect radio station.

"No more than usual," Tyler says, and shrugs a shoulder. "Oh, my mom texted me and said the landlord was able to get you a new parking pass. It's on the kitchen table."

"Sweet."

Tyler glances at Josh. His mouth quirks. "You don't sound like you mean that," he says, tone that of sing-song quality. It's jarring to see him in a good mood, especially so soon after work.

Josh tries not to act too discombobulated in his reply. "Sorry, I'm… I'm just thinking about…  _things_."

Sing-song again, Tyler goes, "What sort of—?"

"I talked to Jenna today," Josh says. He shuts his eyes for a moment, then opens them and shakes his head. He's driving. He's driving and driving and turning into the Taco Bell drive thru. Quiet in the passenger seat, Tyler removes his hand from the radio. He sits back, back straight, eyes closed now—a long blink. His eyes open after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

First thing's first—Tyler leans his weight on the armrest closest to Josh and places his hand on the crook of Josh's elbow, saying, "I just want a regular taco. No…  _three_  tacos… No… just get me whatever you're getting." A small smile slides onto Tyler's face, the corners of his eyes a little wet as he, then, settles his cheek to Josh's shoulder and adds a soft, "Please and thank you."

Josh does. He inches forward in the drive thru after, only his right hand on the wheel at six o'clock. His left is pushing the button on the window, the tip of his index finger white from how hard he's willing the window to roll up, down, up, down. A lump resides in his throat, and he doesn't know who gave it permission to do this. He had a good morning, a good afternoon; his conversation with Jenna wasn't bad, and yet, he feels disconnected from his body. He can't tell Tyler's currently poking his wrist with his debit card.

"Hey," Tyler says. Sitting up with his hand remaining on Josh's arm, Tyler's head tilt is more out of concern than any possible condescending. "What did Jenna say?"

"Not much, just that she was glad I was safe and that you were being supportive." Josh slides Tyler's card from his fingers and passes it over to the teenager working the window. The swipe is quick, and Tyler's pocketing his card next to his wallet in a manner of seconds. He keeps quiet. He doesn't touch Josh. He takes the bag of tacos when Josh hands it to him, wasting no time at all in unwrapping one and shoving a third of it into his mouth.

It isn't quiet anymore.

Josh begins their drive back to their apartment. It hurts to swallow. "I think," he starts, slow, attempting to make this as clear as possible, "it's going to take a while for me to stop regretting what happened that led to our separation and what happened after our separation."

Slurping up lettuce, as if that's a natural thing to do, Tyler says, "And that's okay. I'm still working through some things, too, Josh."

"I don't think I was allowed to properly mourn you."

Tyler frowns at that. He lowers his hands, chewing and swallowing air. "O-oh." There's no denial or an attempt at minimizing Josh's struggles. Like Tyler said seconds ago, he's working through some things, too.

Maybe Josh could have used a better word; "mourn" implies death, and Tyler is alive and well next to him. Tyler knows where he's coming from, despite this vocabulary. An end of a relationship can certainly be treated as a death—and a painful one, at that. Most people could reason this as true.

"I did my best to cope," Tyler says, "but sometimes…" And he drifts, shifting in his seat and tugging on his sweatshirt sleeves.

Josh says, "Yeah," and pulls up to a red light.

Timid, Tyler breaks off a piece of the taco shell and presses it to Josh's lips. He only speaks once Josh takes the chip into his mouth, possibly to prevent Josh from interrupting him if it came down to it. He says, "Do, do… do you need help finding a new place?"

Anger creeps up to rest with the lump in Josh's throat. "Why would I do that?"

Tyler stares at him. "I thought you wouldn't want to be around me."

"So, you think I need to leave and find my own place? You think that'll help me in  _any_  way?" Josh looks both ways before driving. Both hands are white-knuckled on the wheel. Ten and two, Josh applies more pressure to keep himself from shaking.

Tyler just stares, unblinking, eyes wide. "Josh, I—"

"I  _really_  shouldn't be alone right now."

With the apartment complex in view, Josh considers driving around the block. It's safe inside the car, where he can be vulnerable with Tyler and without judgment. He doesn't want to step out and be taken into the cold arms of the real world just yet, but he has to, he has to, because Tyler's launching himself at Josh and wrapping his arms around Josh's neck and forcing Josh to swerve into the parking lot. He knows he's taking up two parking spots, but he has to stop driving. He has to hug Tyler, and he does,  _he does_ , and Josh has never felt more at ease than he does now with Tyler's nose digging into his earlobe.

There is a moment where Josh wants to pull Tyler into his lap and let Tyler know leaving isn't on the agenda, and if that urge became too overbearing, he would absolutely bring this to Tyler's attention. Tyler had always taken the time away from whatever he was doing to sit with Josh and talk him through his feelings and intrusive thoughts. Tyler listened, Tyler held his hands, and Tyler let him do the very same when their positions were reversed. Josh never kept track. He never felt the need to keep track of life debts.

Because their seatbelts are their guardians, Josh soon finds it difficult to get comfortable. Reluctantly, he pulls away, Tyler's eyes on him, always, always, and he unbuckles his seatbelt. Nodding to himself, Tyler does the same. He has his taco still kept in a hand, the temptation to hug Josh too great to even think of where he could place his dinner. He looks at the taco now, sniffing a little.

Josh presses his hand to Tyler's cheek.

Tyler looks up at Josh, nose twitching at another sniff.

With a swipe of his thumb, Josh removes the tears along Tyler's cheek. "I love you, Tyler," he says. "I want to be with you. I want to stay  _here_  with you." Dragging his hand down, Josh cups the side of Tyler's neck, the tip of his thumb against Tyler's jaw. Tyler needs upkeep on his beard. Based on how he's neglected to keep his hair closely shorn like Josh knows him to do, he thinks Tyler shaving his face won't happen anytime soon. Josh smiles, though, and slides his thumb across Tyler's jaw. Slowly petting what he can without moving his hand, Josh tilts his head toward the driver's seat headrest. He sits there, stroking Tyler's jaw, and Tyler sits there, silently crying with the occasional nose twitch and sniff that does nothing but make Josh think of rabbits.

"I love you, too," Tyler says, and smiles, as well. "Josh, holy crap, I've never stopped loving you."

Before he removes his hand, Josh pushes lightly, just enough to turn Tyler's face away from him. " _Tyler_ ," he says, and feels Tyler's cheeks heat up along with his own. "I've never stopped loving you either." Josh drops his hand, then, and rotates his body. He returns to the steering wheel, glancing through the back windshield. "I wish she didn't get in my head," Josh laments. "I wish she didn't want me all to herself. I wish she was okay with being with the both of us."

"No point in this thinking now," Tyler tells him, looking over his shoulder to aid Josh in reversing from the two parking spots to properly slide into one. "There's only one thing you need to remember now… and it's that she's going to be rotting away in a jail cell while you are happy and breathing in fresh air." Tyler inhales for good measure. "Smell that?  _Fresh air_. Feels great."

Josh sticks his car keys in his pocket. "All I smell is greasy food."

Tyler passes over the bag and tosses the rest of his first taco in his mouth. "Same thing, dude. Eat some and sit here with me. I don't want to go inside just yet." He turns up the radio. He holds out his hand for another taco. He smiles with teeth.

It takes everything to not lean over and kiss Tyler. Josh thinks Tyler wouldn't care if he were to do this. Kissing Tyler would be a testament to how things were before, but there's guilt in Josh's gut, and he's not sure why. Maybe it's a step back, maybe it's Josh still thinking Tyler would be treated as a rebound no matter if they both agreed they remained a couple during their separation. These things are tricky. These things are delicate. Josh loves Tyler, and he wants nothing more than for things to go back to normal.

But things aren't normal yet, are they? Josh doesn't feel like things have truly returned to normal. They're sitting in his car after coming home from work and enjoying their dinner before going inside, and still, Josh doesn't feel like they're  _normal_.

He needs to give it time. He  _wills_  this with his entire being.

Josh places a taco in Tyler's hand.

Tyler says, "Thanks, doll."

The radio lulls, "We're not broken, just bent, and we can learn to love again."

And Josh, watching Tyler shift closer to him, whispers, "No problem, babe."

*

With full stomachs and persistent grins, they head inside their apartment. At the door, Andy greets them by bouncing on the tips of his toes and curling the tip of his tail into a perfect question mark. Josh picks him up, listening to him chit-chat and purr away. "I know, I know," he says, smiling when Andy places a paw on his face. Josh takes that paw. Andy blinks.

Tyler talks to his mother. He goes to her as soon as he steps into the apartment, asking her if she's had dinner, if she's had a good day—Josh wavers, feet taking him into the bedroom. Andy's purrs overpower Tyler's voice. Josh thinks Tyler's saying something about being tired. "Mood," Josh says to Andy, lightly tapping his nose.

Andy meows.

"Also a mood," Josh declares, and lowers Andy to the bed. Andy trots to the pillows as Josh sits at the foot of the bed to tug off his shoes. He expects Tyler to spend more time with his mom, but Tyler's in the room now, too, and pulling Josh's pink hoodie over his head. He wears a t-shirt underneath, gray and simple, and Tyler yanks this off, as well. Holding his arms up, he asks Josh, "Do I smell or could I hold off on the shower until morning?"

The middle ground is coincidentally right at Tyler's hips. Josh stares. Josh sniffs. "I don't smell anything."

Tyler drops his arms. "I think I'll be the big spoon tonight then, you know? Just in case I do smell."

Josh stands up, and Tyler sits down. "Do you still do your testosterone injections on Tuesdays?"

"Yeah!" Tyler shoves his shoes under the bed and his pants from his body. "Tuesdays for you, too, right?" Using his feet as hands, he searches for clothes to sleep in and doesn't consider this nonsensical.

Instead of changing his own clothes, Josh stands there and watches Tyler. He says nothing. He's scared of what might come out if he doesn't carefully plan it. He knows he should answer Tyler's question. Despite his better judgment, Josh focuses on Tyler's back and how his hair has begun to curl at the nape of his neck. It's uncharacteristic for Tyler. He usually keeps his head shaved. Maybe this is another block in the road to normalcy.

Tyler looks good, though. Josh never realized Tyler had dimples in his back until now.

"It never occurred to me that… that your, uh, ex might have stopped you from taking T. Was she ever transphobic towards you?" Turning his head, Tyler stares at Josh. His brow twitches in confusion, but he shakes this off. "I mean, I think it's safe to assume almost everybody is inherently transphobic, and over time, we unlearn that behavior, but was she… was she…?"

"She was fine," Josh says, arms hanging by his sides and his hands hidden by the hoodie sleeves. "Like, she said some stuff from time to time. I wouldn't consider them harmful. It was more like… she didn't understand. I did my best to get her to understand whatever she didn't understand. And then, she'd get mad and play the victim." Moving his arms is a difficult task when they feel like sodden pool toys. It's easier once Tyler turns his head and plucks a pair of sweatpants from the carpet. Josh kicks off his jeans. He tries not to do this with much frustration. Deep breaths help. "Back to your question—not the last one, but the one before that—she let me take T. I ran out last week, so… I need to go to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription." Josh sniffs again. "Auto-renewal."

"We'll shoot up together after work," Tyler says, and holds out his hand. "Come to bed."

Heating pad turned to medium, Tyler sleeps next to Josh with a loose grip on Gizmo's ear. He's bare-chested, and Josh worries he'll acquire a burn on the small of his back by morning. The heating pad is supposed to shut off by itself after an hour. Josh doesn't see that stopping Tyler from waking every hour on the hour and flipping on the device again. He's done it once already, waking Josh in the process by how hard he taps the button on the remote.

Josh lies next to Tyler, on his back, with Gadget nestled by his side and Andy up on the pillows. He's purring. The rhinestones on his collar catch the moonlight through the window.

They didn't watch TV before falling asleep. It's quiet. Josh shuts his eyes, listens to Tyler snore, and feels safe.

Another hour passes. Tyler wakes. Shifting his weight, he neglects the heating pad and inches closer to Josh. "Hey," he whispers. "Are you awake?"

Josh grunts.

Tyler kisses his shoulder. "Turn on your side, Joshie—away from me."

Josh does, he really tries, but as soon as he begins rolling, he can't stop, only settling when he's lying on his stomach with his face pressed into the stiff fur on Gadget's belly. He's grunting more, Tyler's hands on him, working their way underneath him. Josh lifts his hips, and Tyler wraps his arms around Josh's waist and presses his face to the hood of the yellow sweatshirt Josh never bothered to remove. It's soft. It's warm. It's Tyler's.

"Thank you," Tyler says.

If Josh breathes in deeply, he can smell Tyler. He can smell motor oil and burnt steel. He can smell headaches and dirt under the nails. He can smell Tyler.

"No problem," mumbles Josh, lips not cooperating yet somehow producing the words he intended to speak.

Tyler squeezes. Josh is in love.

*

Tuesday morning, Josh eats breakfast with Tyler's mom as Tyler showers. Josh munches on Froot Loops while Tyler's mom has Cheerios. Tyler sings "Hey There Delilah" at the top of his lungs.

Mrs. Joseph takes a sip from her coffee. Josh watches her, watches her try to hide a smile. It might be because Tyler's voice just cracked. It might be because Tyler just dropped a bottle and cursed loudly. It might be a lot of things. She's staring at Josh now, setting down her mug, and quietly, she says, "Slept well?"

Josh absently dunks each Froot Loop into the milk with the tip of his spoon. His other hand clutches at the uneven strings on Tyler's mustard-yellow hoodie. "I think I did."

"You must have, since you can't remember it."

"Yeah, maybe." Josh bites at the inside of his lip. "Must have, since I kinda can't wait to sleep again tonight."

She reaches over and covers his hand with hers. A gentle squeeze, she returns to her own cereal bowl.

Tyler sings "Billie Jean" and drops more bottles.

His mom shakes her head.

Josh's heart flutters.

*

They dress in each other's clothes again, Josh still in that mustard hoodie and Tyler in Josh's NASA tee and a flannel he swears is Josh's, much to Josh's befuddlement. "That's yours," Josh says, and Tyler drops a thermos of coffee into the cup holder, snaps on the new parking pass from the rear-view mirror, and says, "It smells like you, so it doesn't matter."

Josh feels lighter than air. He holds the steering wheel in an attempt to ground himself, but he's taking flight anyway.

Tyler grips his thigh. "I'll send those videos to you today. You can watch them on your break."

Josh is slow to return to Earth. Tyler's hand is the pulse he needs to sustain life. "Me and Jenna."

A smile, Tyler says, "Yes, you and Jenna."

*

The kids are sweet, Jenna is kind, and Tyler follows through with his promise.

On their lunch break, sucking buttermilk frosting from their fingers, Jenna and Josh sit inside and watch Tyler weld a five-foot-tall frog.

Sparks flying, Tyler is unfazed as he leans forward to cut through a scrap of steel. Josh has used this tool before—a plasma cutter. He likes how small it is and how easy it is to control the cut.

On the video, Tyler walks to a table in the back, two eyes in his hand, and begins grinding away the sharp edges with a wall-mounted power tool. Mask and protective coat and gloves and all, Tyler is in his element and the most attractive Josh has ever seen him.

"He's really good," Jenna remarks, and reaches for another mini cupcake. "Good with his hands, yeah?" she asks, maybe offhandedly if she hadn't turned her gaze to Josh and winked.

If there's a time where Josh is thankful he isn't currently eating, it's now. Although, as if he were choking, he grows hot under the collar. As if he were choking, Josh's face shifts to a shade unfamiliar to himself and Jenna. Immediately growing pale, Jenna touches his shoulder, opening her mouth to speak, and Josh goes, "I'm sorry I'm not good at flirting."

Jenna rolls her eyes. She nudges his shoulder. "Play the next video, dork."

Josh smiles and does, no questions asked.

*

After work and before Tyler needs picked up, Josh drives to the pharmacy and grabs his testosterone prescription. He almost wants to administer it in the parking lot. He thinks about it. He seriously considers it, and then Tyler texts him.

_yo, my mom has pizza on its way to the apartment. we gotta beat it._

_If I get a ticket, are you paying for it?_

_yes._

Somehow, they make it in time to greet the delivery man and ensure he receives a hefty tip and numerous compliments—enough to let him know he's appreciated and not too much to embarrass him. Tyler almost doesn't want to part from the pizza box he's so hungry.

So, after some wrestling from his mom, which results in Tyler the victim of Josh's fingers wiggling into his sides, they sit down at the kitchen table and eat their dinner.

It's calm, quiet. The living room television is on low, turned to another family sitcom with a questionable laugh track. From across the table, Josh watches Tyler watch the show, nearly missing his mouth from time to time as he goes to take a bite from his third slice of cheese pizza.

In between them, Tyler's mom takes a moment to wipe her fingers on a napkin, seemingly trying to prolong what she views as the inevitable. Another beat hangs among them before she says, "I think I'm going to go back home tomorrow, if you don't need me here anymore."

When Tyler's first instinct is to rip his eyes from the TV and glance at Josh, Mrs. Joseph quickly adds, "I don't think you need me here anymore."

"I love you, Mom," Tyler says suddenly, like this is a magical epiphany sprung on him and him alone to bestow upon the kitchen. "I don't know how I could ever, ever, ever, ever—"

" _Tyler_."

"—ever, ever,  _ever_  repay you." Tyler folds his hands under his chin. Big brown eyes and a pout to his already pouty lips, Tyler looks to his mother and slowly laces his fingers together. He moves his hands to hide his lips, a praying stance now.

His mother speaks to keep Tyler from becoming more like the mama's boy he already personifies. "Tyler," she says, and she says, "You needed help. It took a lot of courage for you to ask me to come live with you. I know you didn't want to be seen as weak, but, baby, you're allowed to be weak— _especially_  after what happened to you."

Eyes unwavering from his mother's face, Tyler doesn't even blink. Josh feels the table start to shake because Tyler's legs are shaking. A nervous tick, Josh catches himself doing it, too, but less powerful. Besides this, he remains motionless and glancing between Tyler and Tyler's mom. Tyler hasn't spoken. He might not speak. His eyes, they're trained forward, on his mom, and slowly, so slowly, they shine. Tyler juts out his lower jaw, his bottom row of teeth digging into the knuckles on his thumbs. Even grinding his teeth is a slow process, but this… this  _needs_  to be slow. Tyler biting himself is worrying enough; if paired with force and speed, bandages would be required. Tyler knows this, and he bites with little pressure. The pain is a reminder. The pain keeps him here.

Tears blink down, down, down his cheeks. "Yeah," he says, surprisingly steady.

His mother stretches out her hand to set on his arm at the same time Josh does. Tyler closes his eyes at the contact, biting his thumbs again when Josh decides to pull back his hand and place his left foot on Tyler's right knee. Josh curls his toes. Tyler stops bouncing his leg.

"I'm so proud of you, honey," Mrs. Joseph says, "and Josh is, too. Everything is okay now. You're safe."

Although she's meant to be talking to Tyler, it's as if her words are directed to Josh, as well, and Josh finds tears on his face running almost as quickly as the tears on Tyler's. He wipes them away. He sniffs and pulls another slice of pizza onto his plate.

"Thank you," Tyler whispers.

Tyler drops his hands, clasping them even now as he stretches out his right leg and places his foot on Josh's left knee. He curls his toes now, glancing at Josh for a moment before going back to his mother. "Let me take you out to dinner tomorrow… or, or, or we can make it a joint-family thing. Josh's parents—"

"—don't even know I went off to live with someone else for an extended period of time." Josh picks away a burnt part of his pizza crust with his fingernail. He doesn't raise his head to see the confusion, no doubt, on both Tyler's and his mother's faces. Josh knows he should have told his family what happened in anticipation of something tragic—and he really doesn't need to be reminded of this. If he ended up dead or injured to the point of hospitalization, they would immediately flock to Tyler with their questions. And Tyler, he'd be speechless. What could he possibly tell them? Would he play along? Would Tyler try to protect Josh?

In the darkest part of Josh's mind, he knew he never told his parents or siblings because he didn't expect  _this_  to happen. In retrospect, though, and in the darkest part of the darkest part of his mind, Josh knew this exact situation was bound to happen. His subconscious saw right through the façade his ex constructed, even if his conscious mind desperately tried to remain unaware.

Josh chances it. He raises his head and catches eyes with not confusion, but eyes of sympathy. Guilt flees at this. A smile offers itself a quaint appearance, and Tyler, at this sight, curls his toes again. "Okay, then," he says. "Maybe we don't invite your parents. They'll probably think we're getting married if we all have dinner together, you know?" He turns to his mom. "Just us three, yeah? That should be all right."

"No wedding anytime soon?" she teases.

Tyler blushes a vivid crimson. "Mom, we—"

"I know," she says, and reaches forward to pat each of Josh's and Tyler's hands. "I remember. I do."

"Can we go to Olive Garden?" Josh asks, and Tyler curls his toes against his knee over and over.

The Josephs' grins are identical.

*

The TV in Tyler's room rests on the same sitcom as always. Josh is thankful Tyler isn't as distracted this time around, especially when he has a needle in hand and all the determination in the world to stab it into Josh's thigh with no incident. They're next to the bed, Tyler on his knees and Josh rolling up the leg of his boxer briefs. Tyler's watching intently, occasionally licking his lips. "You… you're okay?" he asks. He glances up at Josh, nodding his head once. "On three?"

"You mean on  _two_ ," Josh says. "You never did it on three before."

"Maybe I will now," says Tyler, and readies the shot of testosterone. "Okay—one—" Tyler sinks in the needle, Josh shutting his eyes and biting at the inside of his cheek. This process is a process years in the making. The sting feels like a nip made of toxins and medicine all at once. He knows it's a placebo effect to feel it overcome him so quickly. It feels good though. It feels so good.

Tyler sets the needle on the nightstand, away from the edge, and fixes the leg of Josh's underwear. He rolls it right back up, nice and neat now. "My turn," he says, hands patting Josh's hips. Tyler makes no move to stand. He stays on his knees, eyes downcast, hands still pat, pat, patting. "If I… if… if…" Eyes shutting tightly, Tyler shakes his head and lets out a slow, steady stream of air between his lips. No words come from those lips, but that doesn't stop Josh from figuring out the obvious shift of Tyler's voice. Like a ventriloquist, Tyler's mouth twitches to life while Josh is the puppeteer attempting to maintain any semblance of control.

"It's fine," he says, shooing Tyler's hands from his hips. He fixes his clothing, straightening out the wrinkles and dusting off everything he wishes to cast to the carpet. He's trying. He's trying.

"Josh—"

Josh needs to find pants. He needs to find something. His feet shuffle along the floor, and Tyler, like a snake, darts out and grabs. Fingers wrap around Josh's ankle, and they travel up, no strong grip and no pressure. Tyler's pushing up both legs on Josh's boxer briefs, and Josh lets him. He doesn't even close his eyes. He doesn't hide. He stares at Tyler as Tyler marvels the yellow bruising along his thighs that travel further up his body. Tyler dares not go higher. He dares not remove any clothing. His palms are warm on the backs of Josh's thighs, his forehead presses to Josh's stomach, and his lips… Tyler's breathing slowly and deeply.

"This is unacceptable," he states, like it somehow isn't obvious. "No one should mark their loved ones like this. Okay, yeah, consensual bedroom activities are consensual bedroom activities, but those are… I'm not talking about—"

"I know." Josh cradles the back of Tyler's head, holding him close and feeling Tyler's breath on his stomach. "I'm here now," he says, repeating Tyler's words, repeating everybody's words. "I'm here with you, and I'm safe."

Tyler rises. He throws his arms around Josh's shoulders for a short, tight embrace, and then he's pulling out his own testosterone prescription and stepping from his jeans. "On three?" he asks.

"On three," Josh agrees, lowering himself to his knees.

And when he counts to three, Josh kisses Tyler's hip and pushes the needle into Tyler's muscle.

Tyler's thighs aren't made of old bruises that cause Josh to lose his breath. They're made of accidental scars and purposeful scars, scars his dead ex claim weren't visible enough and scars his mother can never even conceive of on her worst days, scars that he wished he never made and scars he wished he made a little deeper. Josh places Tyler's needle on the nightstand with his own and places his hands on the backs of Tyler's thighs. He mimics Tyler's previous posing, and Tyler wastes no time in weaving his fingers in Josh's curls and holding him.

In bed, Tyler holds Josh like this, too. On his back, heating pad underneath him and Josh stretched out on his chest, Tyler runs his fingers through Josh's hair and sings a tired and off-key rendition of "Hush, Little Baby" until his fingers freeze, their inhales sync, and the world goes just a little bit faster.

*

Wednesday morning is pleasant. There's no trouble in leaving the bed and eating a breakfast of pancakes with way too much syrup. Josh gobbles it up quickly, too preoccupied with his own meal to notice Tyler's mother, sitting between them once again, laughing at Tyler. Syrup on his chin and caught in the facial hair there, Tyler had been trying to race Josh to see who would finish first. Despite this backfiring, Tyler's smiling throughout it all. Josh smiles, too.

Getting ready for work is pleasant. Josh showers and listens to music on his phone. Tyler visits the bathroom often, always quietly knocking and asking permission before coming inside. Barging in was never Tyler's style. Given the circumstances, Tyler makes sure to get Josh's verbal permission to enter the bathroom twice before he even considers opening the door.

Tyler asks to enter the bathroom three times—to brush his teeth, to wash his face, and to do nothing at all.

Josh finds Tyler on the toilet lid, sitting criss-cross applesauce and holding his phone. He had been humming along to the song coming through the speakers, and he continues to do so as Josh grabs a towel, wraps it around his waist, and steps from the tub.

"You were listening to Grouplove," Tyler says, "without me here to threaten you into listening to them."

"Yeah," Josh says.

Suddenly not caring about Josh's current state—wet, wet, impossibly  _still_  wet—Tyler hugs Josh and lifts him along with it. A peck to his cheek and a peck to his chin, Tyler's kisses both dry and soak Josh. Anyone else, and this would be embarrassing, but this is Tyler, and Josh manages to sneak a kiss to the corner of Tyler's mouth as Tyler returns him to ground. "Today's going to be a good day," Tyler tells him. Tyler's smiling again. He's nodding his head and smiling.

Josh actually laughs. It sounds unfamiliar. It sounds happy. "I think it will be, too."

*

And it is. Tyler spoke it into existence, and Josh hasn't had one bad thought or run into a single bad encounter.

Nobody gets hurt at the daycare. Nobody cries because they miss their parents. Crayons stay together, cookies never crumble, and the Kool-Aid and juice boxes are as cold as ever.

And Jenna kisses Josh's cheek as he's leaving to pick up Tyler from the garage. She says, "We all need to hang out sometime! I care about you guys so much," and Josh doesn't stumble over his agreement. He's not nervous. He's not anxious.

When he lets Tyler know this, there's only love for him and the future in Tyler's eyes. "Dude," he says, and he says, "Man, bro, dude,  _Jenna_. She's too good. I never… I can't believe I never even considered she might be interested in us in that way."

"She knows," Josh says.

"She knows," Tyler says.

And as much as Josh wouldn't mind having Jenna in their circle at all, he knows his relationship with Tyler isn't completely mended. They're still stitching the breaks that surface every now and then. It's expected to be slow. Tonight will be slower. It'll just be the two of them and Andy, and Andy can only provide so much conversation.

Josh refuses to let this consume him, at least not right now. He's with Tyler's mother and Tyler at Olive Garden and quite impossibly thrilled to be able to breathe in the company of good people.

*

She leaves them at sunset. Tyler prolongs this parting, interjecting tidbits of useless information he thinks his mother would find useful on her way out the front door. In the middle of what sounds like a sales pitch for a bracelet that supposedly renews a person's life, she places her palm to his cheek and goes, "Tyler, I love you."

Speechless for only a second, Tyler repeats this, "I love you, Mama."

Without pausing for this tender moment to hang in the air, she adds, "Please cut your hair."

Laughing now and clutching his stomach to keep himself from bending in two, Tyler says, "Maybe later."

Josh is in the kitchen, leaned on the sink and watching Andy circle his feet. He can see this exchange from where he's standing. It's a safe enough distance away for him to eavesdrop and to not be caught eavesdropping. He's involved, but not too involved. Andy purrs and receives a gentle prod in the side from Josh's foot.

"Keep Josh safe," she's telling Tyler now, still with that hand on his cheek. "He's been through so much. You, too, Tyler—you both can grow from this, and grow better together."

"Stop being sappy," Tyler mumbles. He turns his head toward her palm, smacking a kiss on it. "I'll call if anything happens—good or bad."

Andy bats at Josh's ankle. Josh bats at him right back, and then drops to the floor. Andy welcomes the lift and immediately rubs his cheek over Josh's chest, over and over, purring like a little machine. If anyone were to ask, Josh would say the tears in his eyes are due to cat fur getting into them.

More talking at the front door, Josh concerns himself with Andy and the sound his shoes make along the linoleum tile of the kitchen and the carpet stretched across the hallway and their bedroom— _their_  bedroom. A week has not passed since Josh's arrival. Not even a week, and Josh is already setting Andy on the bed and removing his street clothing as if this room were his since the womb. He feels comfortable here. Nothing bad has happened here.

Josh would be delighted to spend the rest of his days here.

Tyler's knuckles quietly rap against the doorjamb. "Hey," he says, and smiles at Josh's pajama bottoms. Green with dinosaurs in different hats, Tyler gave them to him as a late birthday present after spotting them on a run to Target. Josh wore them for three days straight, until Tyler got particularly excited and ripped apart the seam on the inner thigh. Josh fixed it no problem, but Tyler always liked to say he never forgave himself for doing what he did. Seeing the smile on Tyler's face now makes Josh's heart burst.

"Mom just left," Tyler says, taking a seat next to Andy on the bed. "Are you tired?" He points at Josh's pants as evidence. "I was thinking about popping some popcorn and watching a movie."

"We just had dinner."

Tyler scratches Andy under his chin. "So, you'll share the popcorn with me?"

Josh lightly kicks Tyler's shin. "Yeah. What movie?"

"Whatever's on TV."

Josh kicks Tyler again.

Tyler laughs.

As Tyler makes the popcorn, Josh pulls down the bed covers. He means to get under them as soon as he can—he's tired, a little cold—but has to stand there and let Andy survey the area as if he's unaware of what lies beneath the comforter. He carefully steps over to Tyler's side of the bed, nose to the sheets. "The heating pad isn't there, sweetheart," Josh tells the cat. "You can ask Tyler for it when he comes back."

Andy meows.

Propping his pillows next to the headboard, Josh says, "I dunno about that, dude. You may not know Tyler as long as me, but he's a pretty nice guy. I'm sure he'll let you have his heating pad if you ask politely."

Another meow, and Tyler enters the bedroom shaking the bag of popcorn and holding it by the corner with forefinger and thumb. "Stop conspiring with our cat."

They sit down at the same time, Andy nestled between them. Josh sticks Gadget and Gizmo under his arm, on the other side of the bed. "I'm not doing anything."

"Uh-huh."

Josh opens the bag of popcorn for them. Tyler discards his jeans and doesn't bother changing out of his sweatshirt. Josh counts four holes in the sleeve. "Is your back hurting?"

"My back's always hurting. Sometimes it hurts less." Tyler pulls his heating pad from the floor and stretches it out. He pats it, drawing Andy's attention to it more now than when he carefully pulled it out. Andy's on top of it within seconds, no matter it's not warm. Tyler smiles and leans in to kiss the top of Andy's head. "You think there's gonna be anything good on?"

"No." Josh passes the popcorn to Tyler. Tyler sits, mindful of Andy.

"I thought so."

Tyler eats loudly. Josh is used to this. He eats a couple handfuls of popcorn and rolls away onto his stomach.

Before losing himself completely to sleep, Josh feels the mattress dip and Tyler's fingers weaving through his hair and tucking a curl behind his ear.

"Sweet dreams," Tyler says. "Don't let the bed bugs bite."

Josh cries in his dreams. Upon waking, Tyler's fast asleep, Gadget to his chest and Gizmo serving as a headrest. Upon waking, Tyler is snoring. Upon waking, Josh finds his pillow wet.

Josh flips it and closes his eyes.

*

Thursday morning isn't as pleasant as Wednesday morning. Josh wakes with a headache and to more stains on his pillow. Some are damp. Flipping the pillow to hide their existence doesn't work; Tyler's awake and watching him do this. Arms tucked behind his head, the t-shirt below his sweatshirt now showing, Tyler unfolds slowly. He rotates his body, moves his arms, and Josh slides into the space Tyler provides. Josh goes for the neck. With a hand to Josh's back, Tyler holds him in place. His hand glides, gently pressing to different spots on Josh's back, like a doctor with a stethoscope. There's no examination here, just comfort and love.

Josh doesn't cry, not that he would need a reason to cry. He's unsure why he cried last night. Maybe he's not supposed to know. Maybe he's okay with that.

Tyler lets go when Josh is ready. They leave the bed together and venture into the kitchen. Josh sits at the table, and Tyler shakes the box of Cheerios. Eyebrows raised, Tyler gives it another shake. Josh smiles. Tyler grabs a bowl and starts fixing it for Josh.

The rest of their morning continues like this—quiet, calm, considerate. Save for Andy's pleas for breakfast, Josh never had a morning with someone who could carry on a conversation with small hand gestures and subtle facial expressions. Though, he hasn't spent a morning with only Tyler in a while.

It's peaceful.

They play footsie under the table.

It's just like old times.

*

Nothing remarkable happens at work. Josh thinks that's supposed to be good.

The kids don't notice anything amiss. Neither does Jenna. She's brought homemade sugar cookies with icing and sprinkles. At lunchtime, they're gone within minutes.

Josh sends a picture of his stray sprinkles in the shape of the "loss" meme to Tyler. Tyler's response, a blunt  _fuck you_ , is enough for Josh's world to recalibrate.

*

The sun is down. Josh is in his car. Across the street, Tyler stands with his head lowered to his phone and his thumbs darting across the keyboard. Josh expects a similar message to the one a few days ago, one where Tyler asks Josh if that's really his car parked and waiting. Josh wouldn't put it past Tyler to crack a joke about how he needs to buy his own car. But Tyler doesn't do that. He sends,  _come over here. i want to show you something cool._

Glancing up to see Tyler's exact expression is futile when Tyler's still focused on his phone and is typing out another message to Josh.

 _what are you wearing?_ pops onto Josh's screen. This time, when Josh raises his head, Tyler's staring right at him. Even from here, even in the dark, Tyler's smile is plain to see.

Josh can play this game, and he can play it moderately well if he doesn't think about potentially embarrassing himself. Speaking to Tyler in this manner will always lead to pink cheeks, torn-open lips, and an inclination to continuously shift wherever he happens to be sitting. Being coy was never a talent he claimed to possess. Josh shoots a reply to Tyler, just a quick  _Oh Tyler._

 _shut up_ , Tyler bites back.

Josh smiles. _Okay. Hoodie, jeans, shoes._

_what type of shoes?_

Josh sucks his cheek into his mouth.  _The kind you wear on your feet_

_JOSH_

He can hear Tyler laugh from here.  _They're vans,_ he sends, _but I'll be careful._

 _come over here_ , Tyler repeats.  _i_   _want to show you something cool._

Tyler could wait all night for Josh to open the car door. He stands on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets and resembling a child waiting for their parent to pick them up from school. It isn't a sad look. It's definitely anxious, like the child waiting for their parent wants to run instead of wait. Never fleeing, no, the child's just full of energy, and running will help release that energy into something constructive.

Josh runs across the street. He's throwing himself at Tyler before he's aware of it. Not at all surprised nor upset, Tyler's on autopilot as he snakes his arms around Josh's waist and delivers a tight squeeze. Goosebumps frequent Josh's skin, more of them joining the equation when Tyler turns his head and kisses the side of Josh's face.

Kissing Tyler's face in return, Josh catches the smell of smoke—and not the good kind. Blood, too, but this smell is faint, almost hidden from the crisp of burnt fabric. "You okay?" Josh asks, and holds Tyler tighter. However, this hug is rather short-lived; Tyler's resisting, attempting to take a step back to speak to Josh face-to-face and not face-to-neck. Josh eases the pressure with much reluctance. Tyler must sense this, for he doesn't pull away too much; they're still breathing the same air.

"I'm okay," Tyler admits, sheepish. "I wasn't paying attention and burned myself. It just caught my glove on fire, but…" He shrugs. "I caught fire. That was really scary."

Josh takes Tyler's fingers in his hands. Despite the threat of fire literally dancing on his fingertips, Tyler's hands remain soft. The calluses are characteristic of a writer and a mechanic—a hard worker and an artist—but for the most part, Tyler takes care of his hands. These dangerous incidents are few and far between.

"Do you have another pair of gloves?" Josh turns Tyler's hands, palms up now, and presses his palms to each of Tyler's palms. Tyler's palms are the softest part of his hands, and then his wrists come close second, if Tyler's wrists can count as being part of his hands.

Lightly, almost as if on their own, Tyler's fingers twitch along Josh's palms. Tyler sniffs. "Yeah, I have another pair," he says, making a face. "Gotta work them in. I don't like doing that." Fingers twitching again, Tyler slides his right hand out from under Josh's. Tyler is quick, but Josh is quicker. Instead of smacking the back of Josh's hand like he intended in this impromptu game of red hands, Tyler ends up slapping air. "Shit."

"Sorry." Josh sticks his hands under Tyler's hovering hands now. He scratches the heels of Tyler's hands.

"I also fell and scraped my knee."

They both look at Tyler's legs. Sure enough, the fabric of Tyler's jeans over his right knee and up his thigh look thin.

Josh swings his hand around and smacks the back of Tyler's hand.

Frozen, Tyler says, "Shit."

Josh says, "Sorry."

"Don't be." Tyler lowers his arms to his sides. He raises them immediately after, unsure of himself, and sticks his hands into his pockets. "So, uh… I was thinking, like, I thought I could show you what I've been doing these past few weeks." Tyler's voice picks up Josh's feet, and soon, they're linking arms and walking down the sidewalk. A steady pace, Josh doesn't see that anxious kid in Tyler anymore. Tyler is more somber, reserved. His shoulders are drawn in, and he stares at their feet as they step left, right, left along the light puddles. "I wanted to weld for you, too, you know… because you like watching me weld."

"It's okay," Josh says. He nods, Tyler nodding with him. "If you don't want to put yourself in that position again after that scare, then you don't have to weld for me. You can just, like… like, just show me stuff. I can see."

Tyler stares, wide eyes and parted lips. "Oh, my God, Josh,  _you can see_?"

Josh elbows Tyler.

Tyler elbows Josh.

The spare garage is illuminated from the dusk-to-dawn light attached to the front of the double-car door. Tyler leads Josh to the side door, where he has to jiggle the door knob and push it open with a heave of his shoulder. Josh remembers Tyler telling him once the door tended to stick because it was slightly too big for the reinforced steel trim encompassing it. It's fortunate Tyler's shoulder isn't in chronic pain like his back due to this.

When the door cracks open and Tyler shoves his hand into the darkness to grope for a light switch, Josh inhales sharply and feels the fist of nostalgia nail him in the gut. "Oh," Josh whispers, a gasp, not meant to be heard, but Tyler hears and spins around to look at Josh. He mouths, "Yeah," just a simple "yeah" and walks into the makeshift art studio. Josh follows.

In an environment like this, heavy with debris and the improbability of ever becoming clean no matter how hard a person scrubs, headaches are welcome. Taking medicine before stepping into the room would be ideal, but the headache that occupies skulls during this time vanish soon after leaving. Fresh air is needed. With Tyler, his headaches are natural. His headaches don't bother him as much as someone unfamiliar with this area. Josh has been in here before, has seen this place in more pictures and videos than anything, and even those multimedia messages come with an aura that demands to be attended to with nearly an entire bottle of Tylenol.

Of course, it's dirty. Tyler does what he can to tidy his workspace. Tools are put away, cabinets are locked tight, and the floors are clear of anything a shoe could catch on when passing by. Tyler's boots thud along the concrete floor, proving it is indeed safe to travel. Josh only does the same when Tyler gives him the a-okay in the form of a smile and a hand wave.

Tyler turns on lights as they come into an arm's length. One by one, the overhead bulbs guide them deeper into the garage. Tables with scrap metal and rods on the right, tables with drawn-on chalk sketches and notes on the left, Josh finds himself reaching out to drag his finger along a few words and smearing the edge. He recognizes Tyler's handwriting. These tables are long, meant to be used for 2D models of their 3D counterparts, but Tyler's process is filled with more words than actual drawings. That isn't to say Tyler doesn't sketch—he does sketch and does so beautifully; however, the sketches he needs to do on these tabletops are not able to be contained within the tabletop as they need to be drawn to scale. So, on these tables, Tyler writes. Unusual for a typical artist, Tyler's lists are visual aids of their own. Josh slices through "warts" written five times. As if sensing this disturbance, Tyler shoots a quick look over his shoulder. His lips press together. He's trying not to smile. Josh smiles for him.

On the far end of the studio, unwise for it to be so, a cabinet with a combination lock holds the safety equipment. Josh has always thought it would be better served near the front door. It's heavy, though, most likely secured to the wall in some fashion. Relocation isn't possible. Tyler makes do. He pops off the lock and opens the doors. Methodical in nature, Tyler tugs a green welding jacket off its hanger and passes it to Josh. He pulls out a red one for himself. After the jackets, the gloves come out. Josh knows to wait to put these on last, so he tucks them under his arm and goes back to buttoning up his jacket. There's a few holes in the sleeves, but it's not a hazard. Josh will be okay.

"I think this one might still be fitted to your head," Tyler says, slowly sliding his feet across the ground with a face shield in his hands. Old, a little dusty, and stamped with a peeling bald eagle for decoration, the welding mask should do the job even if it's been locked away in a cabinet and remained untouched since Josh was last here. Tyler studies it for a moment, running his thumb across the rectangular visor. "Do you mind if I put it on for you?"

As a response, Josh bows. Tyler places it on Josh's head, exhaling through his nostrils in a chuckle. "How does that feel?"

Josh gives a thumbs up.

Tyler gives Josh one, too.

Tyler's own face shield, shiny and black and not new at all, hangs from Tyler's fingers and serves as a makeshift basket for his gloves. Mindful of his surroundings, Tyler shuts the cabinet doors and loops the lock through without clicking it into place. Josh is going to stay close by. He's not going to snoop. He touches Tyler's shoulder and fights to stay in contact as Tyler now takes them to the center of the room. On one hand, they can move freely here, but on the other, Tyler's sculptures occupy this area. There are abstract pieces here—Tyler's bread and butter—and then… there's the frog.

It looks bigger in person, standing right at the five-foot mark. Instead of having the amphibian sit as if perched on a leaf, Tyler has the frog launching itself into the air with three metal rods serving as armatures—two on the back legs and one on the neck. While Tyler leaves him for a moment to pull the welder closer, Josh travels around the sculpture. A fool, he tiptoes on the border of what's considered acceptable by letting his arm graze across the frog's front toes and actually touching the piece with no protection for his fingertip. He touches the edge, feeling how smooth Tyler has gotten it and how it needs a bit more grinding to avoid the possibility of bleeding in a couple spots.

Tyler watches him as he clamps what Josh always referred to as the "jumper cable" to the large sheet of metal serving as the frog's thigh. "It's tough to get in those areas," Tyler says, "so I think I'm gonna need to go back in with a file to do that by hand."

"Why a frog?" asks Josh.

Shrugging both shoulders, Tyler keeps his gaze turned down when he explains. "I had a dream a few weeks ago," he starts, "about frogs that could fly. It wasn't… that scary—weird for sure, but not scary. One of them flew into my bedroom and sat on the floor next to my phone charger, and it just… stared at me. It didn't croak or anything. So, in my dream, I sat up in bed and looked at it, and it looked at me… and then, I woke up." Tyler frowns. "I dreamed about the frog again when you came back. I was in the bathroom in my dream this time, brushing my teeth, and it flew into the bathroom and began swimming in the sink. It was overflowing in my dream. That was weird, too."

"Do you think it meant anything?" Josh sticks his fingers through each of the gaps between the frog's webbed toes. It's rough, not safe at all. Josh pretends it doesn't hurt as he slowly pulls his hand from this spot and slips on his gloves.

"Dreams could mean anything," Tyler remarks. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Tyler says, "Do you want to sit down and watch, or are you okay with standing?"

Josh chews on his lip. "Uh, what exactly are you… going to do? 'Cause if you're doing something small just so you can weld for me, then I can stand, but if you're planning on being here for a while, I can find someplace to sit."

No thought necessary, Tyler sighs, mumbles, "I'm probably gonna tack on the eyes and call it a night." His back's hurting without needing to even say it himself. A bath might do him well—a warm bath, and then straight to bed.

"That sounds good to me," Josh assures Tyler, and flips down his mask.

Like Tyler across the street, it may be too dark for Josh to see properly, but Tyler's smile is bright, bright, bright. And as soon as Tyler is properly equipped and ready, he warns Josh to keep a distance and successfully strikes an arc the first time making contact. A difficult task to do for beginners, Josh gave up after being unable to produce that arc even with Tyler's hand on top of his showing him exactly how to perform this feat.

Josh thinks this is magical. Sparks shoot every which way. The whitest light that could rival Tyler's smile bleaches the entire studio in a strobe-like effect. And the smell, the smell is a smell Josh could never shake from his head no matter how many times he would be subjected to perfumes. Ingrained into the fine hairs in his nostrils, Josh could never forget it. He doesn't want to ever forget it.

One hand holding down the eyeball and one wielding the handle, Tyler's boots provide him with a comfortable height he would need in order to properly attach the eyeball to the frog's head. Despite Tyler being taller than the sculpture already, a few more inches is more helpful than harmful. He looms over the creature in a way that isn't threatening, not that Tyler could ever be threatening—even with a dangerous tool in hand.

Once one eye is successfully placed, Tyler moves onto the next one. He lets Josh replace the electrode in its holder. Josh knows Tyler is smiling even if he can't see it.

The second eye sticks on quicker than the first. Tyler's moving away from the sculpture, turning off the machine, and removing the not-jumper cable, his gloves, and his face mask before Josh realizes it's over. He's speaking, too, saying, "I think frogs are supposed to be good luck."

Gloves and mask off and passing them to Tyler, Josh agrees with this thought. "I heard that somewhere."

Tyler smiles at this somehow, nervous and small. Humming under his breath, he slides his feet as he walks to the frog to inspect the welds in proper light. Never touching—both of his hands are full anyways—Tyler's body sways from side to side in his examination. He keeps quiet, expression incomprehensible. Suddenly, he turns to Josh. "In the cabinet," he says, nodding his head in its directions, "could you get me the tool that looks like a hammer with a chisel tip? It has that spiral handle." Tyler pauses. "Do you remember what I'm talking about?"

Josh mimes hammering. "So… you can… like, chip away the glass… glue… thing…?" At Tyler's eyes crinkling in an affirmative smile, Josh says, "Okay, cool!" and proceeds to the cabinet. Back at the sculpture, Tyler sets their equipment on a nearby table, save for a single glove. He puts that on his left hand and grips the frog's face for leverage. His right hand reaches out for Josh to place the hammer-like tool into it. As he feels the spirals next to his palm, Tyler brings his arm closer to the frog's eyes. Before he can knock any residue away, Josh spits out, "I still think you need to protect your eyes when you do that."

"I'll be fine, Josh. I always am." Tyler readies his arm again.

"See, that's the thing people say before something bad happens."

Tyler's posture turns into a limp noodle when he begins to laugh. " _Josh_ , I'm going to be  _fine_."

"If you say so," Josh grumbles.

And as always, like Tyler told him and will continue to tell him, Tyler is just fine chipping away the slag— _slag_ , Josh remembers.

He learns by watching, by osmosis, by Tyler sitting him down and talking to him if he asks. Tyler is never demeaning and never speaks to him as if he were a snot-nosed kid. He's patient, always maintaining eye contact, and always,  _always_ , checking if Josh is following along. Most of the time, Josh gets the gist of it, and the other times, he considers it a lost cause. Tyler's tried pulling out a notebook and writing out notes and mathematics for him, but the thought of looking at numbers in that way made Josh grow sick at the thought of high school all over again.

Josh thinks he might be feeling sick now. Deep, in the pit of his stomach, a pounding ache stakes its place of residence. Josh hates how it makes him want to excuse himself into a corner of the room and vomit all over the cobwebs. He stands, though, continues to stand and watch Tyler clean the welds and shake them to see if they successfully stuck.

Satisfied, Tyler places the hammer on the table with their other equipment. Scrap metal is here, the pile nearly depleted from how often Tyler grabs a piece to add to the frog. The frog itself, Josh notices now, is asymmetrical when it comes to the careful addition of scrap metal. Some of the metal is rusted, and Tyler uses those as accents to the frog. Josh doesn't know any knowledge about coloring metal other than the vague concept of a "patina", so Josh thinks using rusted metal for highlights or lowlights is inventive. He wants to touch them, thinks maybe the rigid texture might ground him, so he touches a rust spot on the bend of the frog's thigh to its hip and goes, "Oh, it's a tree frog."

"Yeah." Tyler's voice is soft, barely echoing off the walls of the garage. He turns his face shield into a basket once more, his gloves and the hammer and Josh's gloves, too, resting inside it. "I thought it'd be easier. They're already kinda… gangly."

The bulb hanging over their heads deserves a shade over it. It's a spotlight on the frog, casting wicked shadows for fodder for nightmares of their own. Tyler steps back around the front of the frog, face-to-face, and his smile is a pleasant thing to see. He cups the frog's face the best he can in its current state. "It's so fucking ugly," he says, choking up. Whether this is sarcasm or said in an exclamatory fashion, Josh can't determine exactly. Tyler's eyes are shining, and he's smiling more now, and he's closing his eyes and saying, "I love it so much."

Like a ghost with footsteps, Josh stands next to Tyler and says wholeheartedly, "I love it a lot, too. I think it'll be a good… like, it'd be cool in a park or something."

Tyler blinks. He laughs, the echo from this sound loud, loud, loud. "You have too high expectations for me."

"Maybe."

Slowly, Tyler presses his hands to the front of his jacket and drags them down. He looks at his palms, clean, and then more pointedly at his thumbs. Before any comment or thought can be made of them, positive or negative, Josh takes Tyler's hands and wastes no time in lacing their fingers together. Much,  _much_  better than the frog's appendages by far, Josh squeezes, and Tyler squeezes harder. Always the competitive one, Tyler's fingers curl and somehow are able to soothe the pounding of Josh's heart dropping lower and lower to his stomach. Lips together in a thin, white line, Tyler's eyes narrow to slits, and he says, "I want to do some metalsmithing in the future, you know. Um… I had an idea for another frog, but making it miniature. Just a little trinket to have setting somewhere… and maybe… maybe some jewelry, too.  _Not frogs_. I can do other things besides frogs."

Tapping his thumb against the side of Tyler's hand, Josh says, "You'd be good at that. Frogs and other things besides frogs."

"You think so?"

Josh only nods as his answer. The gesture is small, but it's enough for color to rush to Tyler's cheeks. Pinks and reds and beautiful hues in between, Tyler lowers his head to hide such embarrassment. He even releases Josh's hands to cover his face with his palms for a brief moment to collect himself. Preoccupied and shy and trembling lightly and lips parting to giggle, Tyler is gathering Josh's soul into every part of his body with every little move he does. A twitching nose, a head tilt, even something as simple as Tyler dropping his arms back to his sides are enough for Josh to lose all preconceived notions of cohesive thinking. Tyler isn't perfect—he could never be the purest definition of the word—but Josh's own definition of perfection, one that has wiggle room for faults and trips and a curse here and a curse there, is welcoming of Tyler. Tyler embodies it with all he has, and then some.

Arms by his sides and staring at Josh, it feels like Tyler himself has drilled another punch into Josh's gut when he says, "You've always believed in me, dude."

And it might be the stench of melted steel nestled in his brain for Josh to think Tyler is quite handsome as he does nothing but stand there. He's just standing in his work boots and a red welding jacket and a dirt smudge on his nose, and Josh doesn't know why he's crying, but he's crying, and Tyler's crying with him. They're crying and standing across from each other, too scared to touch, too scared to do anything.

And then, Josh asks, "Is it okay if I kiss you?"

And Tyler, taking the incentive, cups Josh's face with more care than Josh deserves and kisses him.

There's no fireworks display. There's nothing special. It's as it should be. Josh wouldn't have it any other way.

Tyler licks into his mouth, and the taste of it cools Josh's stomach and soothes his nerves. Tyler's spit, the Red Bull he had before meeting Josh here, Josh takes it all and allows it to creep inside and heal him. He's touching Tyler's wrists, holding him in place, pulling him closer.

Josh doesn't want much in life; he wants Tyler to stay right here, unmoving, frozen, together in this spot with their hands clasping for each other and breathing with no difficulty at all.

Tyler's hands come around to the nape of Josh's neck. His arms join them, and soon, he's stepping closer and hugging Josh and pushing his nose to Josh's ear. Sultry, low, trying desperately not to laugh, Tyler says, "We should get out of here and…  _hit up Chipotle_."

"Okay, holy shit," Josh hisses into Tyler's neck. He feels Tyler shake with laughter, so Josh squeezes him to prevent this. Tyler just laughs harder, and that makes Josh laugh harder than that. Josh hugs Tyler and kisses Tyler. He kisses Tyler again. He kisses Tyler again.

"So…" Tyler struggles to breathe, to talk. He struggles to be civil, and Josh just  _knows_  he has more silver on that tongue of his. "So, uh, does this mean you're gonna put out now?"

" _Holy shit_ ," Josh sighs, eyes rolling and Tyler diving into his neck to muffle some of his laughter. Josh hangs on, his fingers digging deep into Tyler's hips. "Okay," he says, "you gonna lemme sit on your face for an hour?"

Tyler pushes his tongue in his cheek. Josh can feel it against his neck as Tyler raises his head, looks up to the corner of the room, and loudly hums in thought. Thankfully, it isn't the  _Jeopardy_  theme or else Josh would have lost it. Heat on his cheeks again, Tyler asks, "Can I… lay on my heating pad?"

An abrupt road bump, Josh frowns at Tyler's question. "Of course you can," he says. He absently pats Tyler's hips, his waist, up his sides and to his shoulders. "Bath first, though?" he suggests. "We'll see how you feel after some food and a bath."

No doubt hurting himself in the process but not seeming to care, Tyler lifts Josh in his hug. Josh wants to tease him, wants to say Tyler  _wants_  to be confined to his heating pad tonight, that he wants to have Josh's knees on either side of his head and his nose buried in the curls between Josh's thighs. Though, Josh is selective in his speech. He says, "I love you a lot," and Tyler, selective, as well, replies with a curt, "Love you more," and pecks Josh's bottom lip.

*

Safety equipment put away and all doors locked up tight, they walk hand in hand down the sidewalk and toward Josh's car. There's a bounce in Josh's step. Every time Tyler looks at him, it's if he's looking at Josh for the first time. It's endearing. It hurts Josh's stomach. It's a good hurt. Josh realizes now the hurt in his stomach before was a good hurt, too, because he was excited, because he wanted to kiss Tyler, because he cared about Tyler so much. And Tyler, before, when they shared their first-ever kiss, Tyler cared then, too. When Tyler spoke this fear to the girl who tried to kill him, she laughed at him. In a way, Tyler cared about the situation. He was putting himself out there. He was absolutely terrified of what might happen if he made one wrong move. He did what he could to survive. There's nothing wrong with that.

Josh wraps himself in his thoughts. Tyler does the same. Their elbows touch on the central console as they eat their meals and listen to the radio in Josh's car. Tyler taps his foot. Josh is warm.

At home, Josh feeds Andy, Tyler runs a bath, and with caution, Josh asks if he could join Tyler in the tub.

The water's filling up, Tyler sitting on the edge and dipping his fingertips into the pool. "I don't see why you couldn't join me," he says, no sarcasm. He means it. He's confused a bit and looks at Josh in the doorway. "Like, Josh… nothing's changed. We're still us. It's still me."

"I know," Josh whispers, chomping down on his lip to keep it from trembling.

"We're okay," Tyler says.

"I  _know_ ," Josh repeats.

"Come here."

Josh does. He lowers himself, squatting, and Tyler holds the back of Josh's head to steady him for a kiss. It's a quick peck, lips puckered and making a loud, wet smacking noise and all. It makes Josh smile. That's all that matters.

"Do you want to help me shave my head soon?"

"How soon were you thinking? Because I haven't had time to really appreciate it myself."

Tyler kisses him again. "This weekend, maybe." A kiss. "Next week, maybe." A kiss. "Next month, maybe." A kiss. He breaks to twist the dial on the tub. Once the water stops, Tyler is back on Josh's mouth, open and wet, and now Josh is the one to cup Tyler's cheeks and feel, once again, at ease with the world.

"Wait to shave this, too," Josh tells Tyler's lips, thumbs rubbing across Tyler's jaw. This is the longest time Josh has seen Tyler go without shaving his face and, like the hair on his head, Josh wants to savor it all. Each slide of his thumbs is peaceful. Josh kisses Tyler's chin.

"If you really want to put it to use, I can shave your vulva, and then you'll extra enjoy it."

"God, no. I don't want to look like a child."

"Just wanted to ask." Tyler lays a kiss on Josh's forehead. "I like it when you're hairy anyway."

"Same."

Sharing a look and a smile, they both stand. Josh steps aside to let Tyler walk past to grab towels and a washcloth, and Josh, glancing at Tyler, unbuttons his jeans. Towels on the sink and washcloth tossed into the tub, Tyler's eyes wander over to Josh. He unbuttons his jeans, too.

Knowing Tyler, Josh half expects this to be a race, but Tyler's going slow. Unlike a strip tease, Tyler isn't trying to seduce Josh while he removes article of clothing after article of clothing. He keeps up with Josh. When Josh loses his pants, Tyler shoves his pair to the floor. When Josh yanks off his shirt, Tyler peels his own away.

When they're naked and facing each other, there's no shame nor embarrassment as they soak up all they can of each other's bodies. In this light, Josh's bruises blend into his skin. He feels attractive. Tyler bites his lip, and Josh feels powerful.

"I like your nipples," Tyler says.

"Thanks. I like yours, too."

"Thanks," Tyler parrots, adding, "I picked them out myself."

Josh helps Tyler into the bathtub first. This is more for Tyler than it is for him. Easy to see in the way he sinks into the water, Tyler fought to appear composed, but now… he relaxes. Shoulders falling and his head lolling on his fist, Tyler shuts his eyes and doesn't open them or even make a move when Josh gets into the water. Josh chooses to face Tyler, hugging his knees.

They sit there together. Eventually, Tyler snores.

Letting him sleep, Josh focuses on washing himself. Shampoo, a touch of conditioner, and a good face wash, Josh scoots over to sit in the space between Tyler's legs and begins this routine on him. He's careful to not disturb Tyler much, but obviously, he wakes.

He comes to with a flutter of his eyes, blowing a messy raspberry, and poking Josh in the side with his big toe.

Josh goes back to wiping the dirt from Tyler's nose.

And again, they sit there together. Eventually, Tyler speaks. "We need to get Andy some more food tomorrow, don't we?"

Josh reaches behind him, fingers wrapping around the lid of the shampoo bottle. "Yeah, he was running low. I think he'll be okay for one more day, but we definitely need to go shopping this weekend." Tyler ducks under the water to wet his hair. Josh squirts shampoo into his palm, stares at it. Some slips through the cracks in his fingers. "I have a question," he says, watching Tyler pop up like a buoy.

Rubbing at his eyes, Tyler says, "I have an answer," and bows his head for Josh to lather the shampoo into his scalp. Josh makes sure to massage as slow and as deep as he's able. It's not quite the same as giving Tyler a back or shoulder massage, but it's enough for right now.

"Does the good times… do the good times you have with a bad person negate the bad? Like"—Josh shrugs—"I dunno. If a person was truly evil, did any of the good experiences you had with them even matter?" He drops his hands in the water.

Tyler doesn't raise his head right away. Bent over with the tip of his nose nearly to the water, it's as if he's talking directly to the water when he asks, "Can I think for a moment?"

Josh runs his fingers through Tyler's hair. "Take as long as you need," he says, brushing the suds from Tyler's temples and around his hairline. He's hesitant to replace his hands into the water, not when he finds such joy in the length of Tyler hair. Tyler is sluggish when he moves to duck his head under the water again, like he doesn't want to leave Josh's hands either. This is more efficient. Tyler is only under for a beat. Upon resurfacing, Tyler pushes his hair from his face and twirls what he can around his fingers to squeeze out the water.

It's a crime for Tyler to look this good. Josh wants to flick him in the nose. So, he does. Tyler kisses his cheek in retaliation. "If they were truly evil people," he starts, hands under the water and touching Josh's thighs, "then I think the bad will always negate the good. That's why it's bad. That's why you're so hung up on it—I'm assuming." Tyler holds up his pointer finger. "This might be a vague question. I'm sorry for assuming the context."

Tyler is too kind for this world. Josh hooks his index finger around Tyler's. "No, it's okay. You're okay… Go on."

Tyler is too patient for this world. "Here's what I was thinking: you wouldn't be consumed with the bad if the good was all that good. The bad destroys the good until there's nothing left. And that's okay. I think." He furrows his brow and slowly lowers his hands into the water. Josh lets go of Tyler's finger, and Tyler tosses his hands in the air. Water goes everywhere. "I don't know what I'm saying! Feel free to ignore me."

Bringing up water, too, Josh pushes his palms to Tyler's and applies pressure, pushing and pushing, and Tyler pushes back. "I understood what you were saying, so I'm not going to ignore you. I don't think I could ever ignore you." Tyler's pressure lessens. Josh looks at Tyler as he makes sure their palms are aligned before slowly splitting his fingers in half—index and middle on one side, ring and pinky on the other. Doctor Spock, Tyler has a little trouble in trying to accomplish this, particularly with his left hand. With Josh guiding him along, he manages. "Just an FYI," Josh says, "I did have someone in mind. Your assumption was correct."

"I'm always correct," Tyler says. "It's my curse."

Josh kisses him. "Shut up."

The first one in the tub and the first one out of the tub, Tyler is quick to dry off. He leaves with the towel around his waist, his shoulders still wet. He'd chastise Josh for doing this if he sees, so for Tyler to be doing this is a little worrying. Josh tries to pick apart the way Tyler walks, that maybe he can tell by the way his legs move if Tyler's in any pain. Tyler's good at hiding it. He flees from the room, quick on his feet and quick of mind.

Josh does his best to keep up. He throws a towel around his waist and hurries from the bathroom, but has to come back to drain the tub, and then he's hurrying from the bathroom again. "Tyler?" he goes. " _Tyler_."

"Yeah…"

Bed covers pulled down, heating pad plugged in and lying on top of it, Tyler's waiting for Josh with his arms tucked behind his head. The TV's not turned on. The lamp on the nightstand is dim. It's soft. Tyler is soft. He's as naked as the day he was reborn into the body he made his, and he's waving Josh over and smiling and smiling and saying, "C'mere and sit on my face."

It's like Tyler has been here for hours. He oozes comfort, blankets across his thighs and a fluffed pillow cushioning his neck. Josh finds it hard to breathe, though he marches on, discarding the towel and climbing onto the bed. He dried off the best he could, for Tyler's sake, but now realizes this may have been foolish. Tyler's wet still, too, body hair damp, a few droplets of water in the dip of his sternum. Josh kisses those away as he straddles Tyler's hips, sits on Tyler's hips, grinds down on Tyler's hips. Pubic bone to pubic bone, Tyler bucks his hips. An involuntary reaction, Tyler becomes a tomato at this. He doesn't even try to hide his face over this, just opens his mouth to stutter a mess. "U-u-uh, uh, it's been a… a while—I, I mean,  _that's not my face_."

Josh can't make fun of Tyler. He crawls up Tyler's body, passing the heating pad and feeling the warmth radiating from it. For a moment, Josh wishes he were in Tyler's position, thinking it relaxing. Then, Tyler laps at his clit with the tip of his tongue, and Josh's mind blanks and all he remembers how to do properly is pull Tyler's hair. That's what he does. He pulls Tyler's hair. Tyler curves his hands around Josh's thighs, sucks Josh's clit into his mouth, and hums a tune Josh can't deny might be a song by The Killers.

It's strange for Josh to be on top and in control like this. He's used to lying on his back with his legs spread and Tyler being the one to hold them open as he kissed, licked, and sucked whatever he felt like kissing, licking, and sucking. There was nothing predictable about Tyler's technique, and that's what got Josh off the most. What Tyler's doing now, this is different. Josh isn't as familiar with him vulnerable like this, taking charge and forcing Tyler to keep his head a certain way as Josh rocks into his mouth. It's nothing masterful or full of secret tricks to have Tyler keep his mouth open and his tongue out, and yet, Josh finds himself reaching his climax sooner than he normally would. He can't explain it. He doesn't want to explain it. He grinds his clit into Tyler's tongue and listens to Tyler work himself to his own orgasm. Josh thinks he's using three fingers to reach the spot deep inside him that's often responsible for him soaking the sheets on occasion. Tyler's quick, hips twitching and bucking with more purpose now.

At their peak, they shiver violently, rocking the bed into the wall and cursing and gasping and cursing.

"I think I'm dying," Josh realizes, lungs aching.

Lips popping off his clit with a laugh, Tyler looks up at Josh through his fucking eyelashes. "Me, too. Me, too.  _Me, too_." Tyler licks his lips and dives in, straight for Josh's labia, parting them with his tongue and kissing whatever he can kiss now.

He's inside Josh, and Josh, Josh is throbbing even now. It's sore. It's like Josh's heart is at his entrance and wanting to shake Tyler's hand for his service.

Without warning, Tyler nudges Josh onto his knees further up by bumping his nose into the junction of hip and thigh. "Hey, hey." He glances at Josh, nuzzling into Josh's thigh. "Want my come inside you? Want me to come inside you?" he asks.

Josh feels himself  _dripping_  onto Tyler's chin. "Yes."

"Yeah?" Tyler's tilting his head and raising an eyebrow and scooping up the excess of his orgasm from his perineum.

"Yeah." Josh's mouth is dry. "Yeah, I want your come inside me."

Tyler kisses Josh's thigh. With eyes on Josh, Tyler presses two of his pruning fingers into Josh's cunt. Josh immediately clenches around them, earning a pleased sigh from Tyler. Josh rocks, fucks himself, and Tyler joins him, moving his fingers inside Josh's cunt and sticking his left hand between his own legs. They're drenched in seconds, Josh knows, and he groans at that image in his mind. He can hear it, can hear Tyler fuck himself with two fingers, can hear Tyler fuck him with two fingers. He groans again, high-pitched whines—yelping, yelping at Tyler's lips on his clit.

It's too much. It's not enough.

Tyler promised him an hour. Tyler is a man of his word.

Josh's hands never leave Tyler's hair.

*

Josh wakes to rain, Andy kneading a pillow, and Tyler quietly asking his sleeping, unconscious form if he's happy.

"Incredibly," he whispers.

Tyler kisses the base of his spine.

"I'm tired, baby boy," he coos.

Lips on each notch of his spine, his ribs, shoulders, the destination is his neck. Josh pulls the blankets around them, tugging Tyler closer, keeping Tyler close. Tyler bites. Tyler kisses. Tyler hugs. "I'm incredibly happy, too."


End file.
